


Sugar

by asroarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Daddy Kink, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Protectiveness, Slow Burn, Smut, Spanking, Sugar Daddy, WTFfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2020-11-09 04:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 70,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20847290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asroarke/pseuds/asroarke
Summary: “Why are you interested in one of these arrangements?” he asks. Clarke blinks at him. This is the first question that actually feels like an interview question, but it’s one she’s never heard before. None of the others asked her. They probably didn’t care. Does Bellamy care? Or is this a test to make sure she’s serious?To be honest, she hasn’t thought about the why. The money is the obvious answer, but there are dozens of other ways to make money. There’s a different pull for Clarke, one that makes her blush when she puts her finger on what it is. Despite all her cynicism while reading articles about being a sugar baby, one common argument tugs at something buried deep inside her.She wants someone to take care of her for once.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betts/gifts).

> Happy Kinktober! Figured I might as well get to posting this fic from the flash kink meme round. I've added a lot to it, currently writing chapter seven. It's going to be a long, smutty fic. I'm going to take my time with it, so there may be some long breaks between updates. 
> 
> From the Kink Meme prompt: Clarke, who comes from old wealth, gets disowned by her family. She's struggling to make ends meet, working 3 shitty jobs, living in a terrible apartment, when Raven recommends getting a sugar daddy. Clarke, who is hot enough to be choosy, finds Bellamy, a man who grew up poor and became a wealthy entrepreneur but who has no time or patience for dating. He's lonely, and only wants intimacy, even if he has to pay for it. After an interview, he invites Clarke to move in with him and be his live-in sugar baby.
> 
> (didn't follow exactly what the prompt asked for, but it's pretty close)
> 
> As always, this is a don't like don't read space. We're slow burning into the DDLG, but I intend to lay it on thick. So, if that is not your thing, I recommend not reading any further. Cool? Cool. 
> 
> Anyway, this soft, smutty rollercoaster is for betts, the person whose work made me realize this is a Thing™ for me, and I've never looked back. BETTS YOU'RE A BLESSING AND I ADORE YOU.

Clarke fidgets in the elevator. Glancing over her shoulder, she catches her reflection in the mirrored wall. She’s self-conscious in her Forever 21 dress and the too-big heels she borrowed from Raven. But her hair and makeup are flawless, so hopefully this Mr. Blake can look past her cheap clothes.

It’s silly for her to fixate on her outfit. He knows she’s broke, hence why she’s even considering this. But it feels like everyone she passes in his building is staring at her because she looks so out of place.

There was a time where Clarke lived in a building not much different than this one. A doctor for a mom and an engineer for a dad, both of whom dreamt of sending her to a private college somewhere out of state where she’d meet her future husband at some sorority function. If all had gone according to plan, Clarke would have a massive ring on her finger and a fancy June wedding to plan.

But all didn’t go according to plan. And now, Clarke has three jobs, a horrible apartment, a dead dad, and a mom stuck in yet another rehab facility. The blue floral dress that she got for eleven bucks is the nicest thing in her closet, and ordinarily, she takes pride in the fact that she found it for so cheap. But in this building, it feels like a neon sign pointing out that she doesn’t belong in this world anymore.

Mr. Blake owns the entire top floor of the building. On the phone, he told her to wait by the elevator as soon as it got to his floor. She does as she’s told, and for all of two seconds, she manages to look composed while she waits. But as the seconds drag on, Clarke finds herself wringing her hands and biting at her lip.

How could she let Raven talk her into this? Yeah, Clarke has read all the articles on being a sugar baby and heard the arguments for it, but it still seems too good to be true. Just a lot of sex with a rich guy to pay off her student loans and help her make rent each month.

Maybe if Clarke had ever slept with someone before, it wouldn’t feel like such a big deal.

“Clarke Griffin?” His low voice jerks her attention away from the abstract art on the wall.

“Yes,” she says. After a beat, she remembers to reach out to shake his hand. “And you must be Mr. Blake.”

This isn’t her first interview with a prospective sugar daddy. Mr. Wallace was her first, and that scared the hell out of her. She was panicked that all her options would be that old. Luckily, her second was Roan, which put her at ease. But when he listed off his expectations for a sugar baby, Clarke quickly realized he wouldn’t work either. She’s not quite to the point where she’s willing to be some rich guy’s sex slave, no matter how well he paid. And considering Clarke is still a virgin, that isn’t exactly how she wants her first time to go.

The other prospective men were relatively boring. Executives and real estate tycoons, all divorcees. Any one of them would be a fine option, but none of them stand out.

Mr. Blake doesn’t look like the others. For starters, he’s wearing low rise jeans and a simple button down with the sleeves rolled up. His hair has a serious case of bedhead, and not in the purposefully styled way that a lot of men have been attempting these days. And he’s young. Well, younger. He’s got at least ten years on Clarke, maybe early thirties, but that’s incredibly young compared to some of the others she has met with.

“Please, call me Bellamy,” he grins. She blinks a few times. He’s kind of beautiful. His smile is a little lopsided, but genuine. He has these freckles sprinkled across his cheeks, and Clarke’s hands itch to draw them. There’s a bit of stubble, which he didn’t have in any of the pictures posted online. Those were all professional photos of him in suits, and Raven kept calling him _Daddy_ as they scrolled through.

“Alright, Bellamy,” she replies. With a flick of his head, he gestures for her to follow. His living room is relatively bare. The apartment has a minimalist style. Lots of white walls and simple décor. She doubts he decorated the apartment himself. With the kind of money he has, why would he bother?

There are a few bookshelves, and unlike the rest of the apartment, they are crammed and messy and the books are not in any logical order. They’re probably the only thing in this apartment that reflects him. He must be an avid reader. She thinks she remembers reading that when she skimmed through articles about him. But that could have been one of the others. They all blur together at this point.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asks, and she shakes her head. Bellamy gestures to the couch and takes a seat in one of the armchairs across from it. Clarke can feel herself shake as she settles into the beige leather couch.

Across from her, Bellamy has his arm propped up on the armrest, bringing up his fingers to his chin. His dark brown eyes are fixed on her, but he doesn’t say a word. She squirms a little under his gaze, though hopefully not too noticeably. This is normally when she starts getting drilled with questions. So, why is he just staring at her?

“How are you?” she asks him when she can’t stand the silence any longer.

“Good,” he murmurs, and his hand drops from his face. His index finger taps the chair three times before he says, “You’re nervous.”

“Excuse me?”

“You just seem nervous to me,” he replies. After all the interviews she’s gotten through, one would think Clarke would be better at them. And she _was_ better in the last few. But there’s something about Bellamy that brings the nerves back. It feels like he’s looking right through her.

“Maybe a little,” she concedes.

“Is it the whole sugar daddy thing or did the doorman give you a hard time?” he teases, and Clarke feels a blush creep to her cheeks. He says _sugar daddy_ in a teasing tone, like he isn’t quite comfortable with the phrase either. She recalls he’s relatively new to having this kind of money, so maybe this is all new to him too.

“Maybe it’s the fact that you don’t prioritize alphabetizing your books and I find that level of chaos terrifying,” she quips back. To her surprise, and perhaps to his too, a loud laugh escapes his lips. It’s a nice laugh. A warm one. Not the forced ones the others would give in an attempt to make Clarke like them. Bellamy actually thinks she’s funny.

“Well, it’s a miracle you haven’t run back to the elevator.”

“I still might,” she jokes, and he laughs again. Clarke relaxes into the couch, feeling a little less anxious. A smile tugs at her lips. She’s funny. Clarke might have no experience and is panicked over the prospect of the sugar daddy she picks rejecting her when he finds out she’s a virgin, but at the very least, she’s funny.

“I better talk fast, then,” he chuckles. Bellamy then tells her about himself, which is an odd way to start this off. Most start by asking Clarke questions. But not him. He talks about growing up poor with a single mom and a little sister to take care of. Then, he gets to discussing the tech company he built from the ground up. All of this, she already knew. Clarke read everything she could find on him before agreeing to this meeting. But despite knowing his story, it feels so different when she hears him tell it. He talks about his family with so much love, and that same passion comes out when he talks about his company. Here is a man who worked his ass off only in hopes of taking better care of his mother and sister. It’s hard not to be endeared by that. She’s hanging on his every word, so enraptured by his voice and the way he frantically moves his hands around as he speaks. He has nice hands. Big ones. She wonders how small her own hand would look in his.

“What about you?” he asks, and again, Clarke is confused. This isn’t at all how she expected this meeting to go. By this point, he should be asking about her STD tests and what kind of birth control she’s on.

“I’m a college student,” she says. “I’ll graduate from Arkadian this year.”

“What are you studying?”

“Art History.” Instinctively, she feels her body brace for whatever snarky remark is sure to come. To say it’s a sore spot would be a massive understatement. Telling people her major is a source of anxiety, and she mostly blames her mother for that. Yeah, she gets why everyone has the same knee jerk reaction. But it is the only thing in Clarke’s life that brings her joy. Without it, she isn’t sure how she would survive.

“So, you like art,” he replies, cocking his head to the side. “Do you draw or paint too?”

“Yeah. It’s how I spend my free time.” When she’s not too exhausted from working a double shift or staying up all night studying for an exam. “I’m okay at it,” she concedes.

“Just okay?” he smirks. “For some reason, I doubt that.”

They go back and forth like that for a few minutes. Clarke covers where she grew up, what her parents did, but she leaves out the most recent history with her mother. He has questions about her jobs and where she’s living, which she anticipated. He would want to know what other obligations she has, since that impacts how much time she can spend with him. She isn’t sure how much time he wants with her. Others have asked for one or two nights a week, but he hasn’t specified yet.

“Why are you interested in one of these arrangements?” he asks. Clarke blinks at him. This is the first question that actually feels like an interview question, but it’s one she’s never heard before. None of the others asked her. They probably didn’t care. Does Bellamy care? Or is this a test to make sure she’s serious?

To be honest, she hasn’t thought about the why. The money is the obvious answer, but there are dozens of other ways to make money. There’s a different pull for Clarke, one that makes her blush when she puts her finger on what it is. Despite all her cynicism while reading articles about being a sugar baby, one common argument tugs at something buried deep inside her. 

She wants someone to take care of her for once.

“Honestly?” she asks, and he nods. Clarke has nothing to lose. If he doesn’t react well to her answer, she can leave and pick someone else. But it feels like she does have something to lose. She likes this one. He’s nice and funny and actually seems to be interested in what she’s saying. It would sting if he didn’t understand. “I’ve been on my own for a while now, and the idea of someone taking care of me sounds really nice,” she shrugs before ducking her head. It sounds childish and silly as soon as it’s out there. She sounds less like a 21-year-old and more like a small child.

Her heart pounds, filling the silence that follows. Bellamy is chewing on his bottom lip and still staring right at her, but she can’t read him.

When the silence grows too heavy, Clarke takes a chance and asks, “How about you?”

He shifts in his seat before his gaze fixes back on her. “Logistically, it works better for me. I don’t have much time for dating, and it’s not like I’ve ever been any good at it anyway,” he starts. Clarke doubts that. He’s probably an excellent boyfriend. “But I miss some parts of it.” He could just say he misses the sex. It’s not like any of the others have been shy about telling her how badly they want to fuck her. “And maybe I just like having someone to take care of.”

Bellamy tugs at his ear, the first nervous gesture she’s seen from him this whole time. It’s kind of endearing that he’s shy about admitting that. None of the others let their walls down enough for Clarke to see anything quite like that.

It’s already settled in her mind that Bellamy is the one she wants, but then he says, “I do have some conditions if you felt like I would be a good fit for you.” Her stomach drops. The last time she heard that, Roan was showing her his “dungeon.”

“Oh?” She tries not to let her anxiety show.

“For starters, you’re working way too many jobs. Ideally, you wouldn’t be working any of them.” Clarke lets out a breath. Provided that her allowance is high enough, it shouldn’t be an issue. She was hoping to be able to quit at least two of them anyway.

“Any others?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says, pushing up on his chair so he sits upright now. “I would want you to live here.” Clarke furrows her brows. Here? He actually wants her to live with him? Isn’t part of the appeal of having a sugar baby that it’s not a real relationship? Clarke would exist when he wants her to and leave when he’s done with her. But if she lives here, there would be none of that. Her mind floods with questions like would she have her own room or would she be expected to sleep in his bed, but he interrupts the stream of questions and continues, “I know it’s a bit odd. Obviously, your compensation would be higher. We can negotiate what that entails, but with my schedule, it would just be easier to have you here. And I don’t really like living alone.”

There’s a slight shakiness in his voice right at the end. Barely noticeable. But it explains every odd thing about this interview. He’s lonely.

Why didn’t she recognize it earlier? Clarke is all too familiar with loneliness. These days, she feels so disconnected from the outside world that she wonders if anyone would notice if she just disappeared.

“Would those be deal breakers for you?” he asks.

“No.” The corners of his mouth tug upward. She should probably tell him that she’s a virgin before this goes any further. Clarke can already feel herself getting too hopeful. She needs to rip this band aid off now. “But I may have a deal breaker for you.”

“Oh?” His head cocks to the side, but the smile doesn’t leave his lips.

“I am fairly inexperienced,” she starts, dropping her gaze down to her fidgeting hands.

“Oh, that’s okay. It doesn’t take long to get adjusted to the set up and—”

“No, I mean I’m a virgin,” she blurts out.

Bellamy’s gaze grows heavier, and her skin turns hot. She can’t read his expression, but she does notice that one of his hands is gripping hard on his knee.

She wants to kick herself for not just losing it with Finn back in high school. Yeah, he was a dick who cheated on her and Raven, but at least it would be over with. Now, she’s approaching twenty-two with her virginity still hanging over her, and that might be the very thing that keeps this arrangement from going forward.

Bellamy clears his throat. “That’s, um, not a deal breaker for me,” he responds, his voice noticeably rougher than before. And she just sits there, stunned and confused.

Before she can add anything else, Bellamy jumps into the logistics. He already has a contract drawn up and highlights a few important sections. It’s all pretty standard. Nothing she hasn’t heard in the other meetings. Clarke zones in and out, figuring she could just read all this later if she misses something important.

Her thoughts zero in on him, on what this would actually look like. Being a sugar baby has been such an abstract concept, but now that she knows who it will be, it finally feels real. Bellamy will be her first. It’s a simultaneously nerve-wrecking and reassuring realization. He’s nice enough, not bad to look at, and seems to genuinely like her. She could do worse.

But it’s no longer this far off concept of something that would happen eventually. It’s happening, and soon.

Clarke’s thighs press together as she tries to pay attention. But her gaze falls to his mouth. Then, his hands. Creeps up to his forearms, getting lost in the toned muscle and bronze skin. What will it be like? Her only real understanding of sex comes from reading and watching porn, and that’s all fiction. Will it be good? Or will she be about as indifferent toward it as she is toward dating?

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, and that jerks Clarke back into focus. Bellamy is staring at his watch and jumping to his feet. “We ran over.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles as she pushes herself off the couch. “Didn’t mean to keep you.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I scheduled my day,” he laughs. Bellamy’s hand finds the small of her back as they walk back toward the elevator. The heat of his hand bleeds through her thin dress, flooding her entire body with an unfamiliar warmth. “So, you will call when you’ve made your decision?” he asks.

His hand leaves her back as soon as the elevator is in sight, and Clarke has to fight not to pout. “Yes, I will,” she replies coolly. She and Raven practiced this part. Clarke didn’t want to come off too eager. And maybe if each one of them thought she had other options, they’d be more negotiable on her allowance.

But it’s definitely going to be Bellamy. Ignoring the fact that Clarke actually likes him as a person, it would be financially foolish if she didn’t pick him. Not only would she be making more with him, but she would also not have to pay rent for as long as this arrangement holds.

Bellamy presses the button for her, and they fall into an awkward silence as they wait for the elevator to arrive.

“It was lovely meeting you,” Clarke tells him when the doors open. Her heel keeps slipping out of her shoe and her legs still feel wobbly, but she thinks she manages to look confident as she strides into the elevator.

Before the doors shut, Bellamy sticks his hand out to stop them. “Wait,” he says, now standing between the doors so they can’t shut. “What would it take for you to say yes right now?”

Warmth pools in her belly at his impatience. He wants her, that much she knew. But like the others, Bellamy had to know there were dozens of girls like Clarke, all of whom probably know what they’re doing. She couldn’t make sense of his interest in her, at least not to the level of negotiating with her at their first meeting. She’s just another blonde from a sugar daddy website. A virgin who hasn’t been kissed in more than a year.

But it stirs something in her, much like his possessive hand on her back did. For once, Clarke feels wanted. Special.

He’s put her in a position where she could ask for anything she wanted. A higher allowance. Health insurance. Maybe even a little trust fund for after this arrangement is over. But the small negotiating power he’s given her is overpowered by her desire to know what his lips would feel like. All practical thoughts leave her mind as she fixates on his mouth.

“How about a kiss?” she asks. Bellamy laughs like it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever heard.

“You’re not much of a negotiator, are you?” he teases.

“Is that a no, then?” Her voice borderlines on bratty, and she immediately regrets her tone. Clarke has been known to get a bit mouthy, but she needs to watch it when it comes to Bellamy. He wants a sugar baby, not some bratty little girl.

“Come here,” he murmurs. His rough, low voice sends a shudder through her as she takes one step toward him. As soon as she’s within reach, his arm wraps around her waist and tugs her toward him. He smells good, like the cologne she finds samples of in magazines.

His hand tilts her chin up, and as she peers up at him, it strikes her how much bigger than her he is. He’s got at least half a foot on her, and she feels little in his big arms. It’s an overwhelming and confusing feeling, but she likes it. She’s being surrounded by him, and instead of feeling claustrophobic, she finds herself wanting to burrow further into him.

Their eyes lock. Clarke sucks in a shallow breath. Her stomach feels like it does on a rollercoaster when she knows the big drop is coming. And just as quickly as she’d find herself squealing in excitement while she plummets down the track, her body melts into his hold as his lips gently press into hers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is kind of short, but the next one will be nearly 7k so it kind of works out? 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for all the great feedback on the first chapter! I had such a nerve wrecking week last week full of doctor's appointments, so reading your comments was the BEST distraction. 
> 
> And apologies to those of you who have apparently been waiting on this fic since the kink meme. If I had known, I would have gotten my act together much sooner. But I hope it was worth the wait. I'm writing chapter nine as we speak and am having a blast with this fic.

“So… you want me to call you, uh, that?”

Bellamy can practically hear her blushing through the phone. If he were a better man, he would just say yes and let her move onto her next question about the contract. But he’s not a better man, and their meeting left him buzzing for days. Ever since he saw those wide, blue eyes staring at him outside the elevator, he has wanted to know what that word would sound like on her lips.

“Call me what?” he asks innocently, though he grips his thigh in anticipation. Bellamy is working late at the office. Most everyone has gone home already, so it’s not like anyone would barge in and realize he’s negotiating a contract with his prospective sugar baby. God, it feels weird to even call her that.

“Daddy,” she whispers, and it sounds so sweet he might just die from it. Clarke sounds unsure, just tasting the word on her tongue.

“Yes. Would that be alright?” He asks as casually as he can manage, but he does hold his breath as he waits for her answer.

“Uh, yeah.”

Though he doesn’t mean to, he sighs in relief. This is the main reason he agreed to try this whole thing out after months of telling Murphy what a ridiculous idea it was. And he still thinks it is kind of ridiculous. But after months of trying to date, he gave in. It’s not exactly easy to find time to go out on dates and get to know someone well enough to drop the “I get off on being called Daddy” bomb with the kind of schedule he has and the social anxiety that is starting to take over his life. Besides, he has more money now than he knows what to do with, so what is the harm? As Roan puts it, it’s a contract that ensures both of them get what they want.

Though, just quoting Roan makes him feel sleazy about this.

“Good. What other questions do you have?”

He hears paper shift on the other end, and he imagines Clarke with multiple highlighters working through the contract Murphy sent over. She’s been pretty thorough so far, asking about everything from the NDA to the specifics of his work schedule. Clarke has asked about everything except the actual sex. Probably not out of a lack of curiosity, he’s sure.

“I think that covers it,” she says.

“Alright, I have a question for you.” Well, he has several questions for her. Why is she living in one of the worst neighborhoods in town? How does a girl with an engineer and a doctor for parents end up paying her own way through school? How is Clarke, a girl so beautiful that he was a little bit suspicious he was being catfished, still a virgin at twenty-one? And what series of events led her to need to become a sugar baby for a millionaire she barely knows? But instead he asks the only thing that is actually relevant. “What kind of experience do you have?”

She’s silent for a moment. No doubt she thought she had managed to avoid talking about sex altogether until right now. Bellamy taps his fingers on his desk and tries to make sense of the numbers in front of him to distract from the silence. It doesn’t work. Each breath of hers distracts him.

“I had one boyfriend,” she says. “In high school.” One boyfriend at least three years ago doesn’t sound right, not when he has seen Clarke with his own eyes. “We didn’t get very far.”

“And by that you mean…?” She lets out a huff, and the corners of his mouth turn up. When they talk about money or living arrangements, she doesn’t pull any punches. The second they start talking about sex, though, she gets shy. It’s adorable.

“He fingered me once. Well, he tried to.” Bellamy rolls his eyes. “We didn’t stay together long enough to do anything more.”

“And what happened to this boyfriend of yours? Did you break his heart?” he teases.

“Other way around. He had another girlfriend the whole time, so…”

“What is your favorite color?” he asks, trying to change the subject so the dejection in her voice disappears.

“Blue.”

“Ah, like your eyes.” Bellamy pulls a legal pad from the drawer and starts scribbling down notes. “And I’m going to need your sizes.”

“What?”

“Dress size, shoe size, et cetera.”

“For what?” she giggles.

“So that I can get you a present.” It’s one of the many things about this whole set up he has been looking forward to. Bellamy has spent so much of his life being frugal and barely getting by. Even now that he never has to worry about money again, he struggles to spend much on himself. But the idea of spoiling someone else has him itching to burn through his wallet.

“A present? No, Bellamy. You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Especially now that he’s heard her breath hitch after hearing him mention getting her a present. Despite her protests, her excitement was audible. “Can I get you a present?”

“Okay,” she concedes.

“Can I get you a few?” And really, it’s selfish of him. The presents he has in mind are things he wants to see her in, after all. That’s really a present to himself.

She giggles. Truly and sweetly giggles. And the sound puts the biggest grin on his lips.

Though there are a few things about the whole sugar daddy thing that feels sleazy to him, he can’t deny this particular pull. Bellamy has always taken care of other people. His mother and sister, mostly. And he has his friends that he watches out for. But no one needs him anymore. Jasper has gotten his act together. Monty is nice and settled with Harper. His mother is gone. And Octavia… well, she made it clear she doesn’t need him to take care of her anymore. She doesn’t want his money or anything to do with him. Lincoln is all she needs, apparently.

But Clarke needs him. She said it herself that she wants to be taken care of. And he’ll do a good job of taking care of her, he knows it. Bellamy isn’t good at casually dating or keeping girlfriends. He’s also not good at being alone, not after decades of his entire life revolving around O. But Bellamy will be good at taking care of Clarke.

By the end of the phone call, Clarke finally signs the contract. Bellamy procrastinates on work by picking out a few presents for her online. All crisp and white. Pure, just like her.

The next few days go by in an exhausted blur. He pushes harder at work so that he can have the entire weekend off when Clarke moves in. Bellamy frets over the room he has for her. It’s too cold and bare, but he wants it to be a blank canvas that she can make her own. He’s overthinking it, really. If all goes the way he thinks it will, Clarke will hardly spend any time in her own room.

The reality of his situation hits him as he drives to Clarke’s apartment. He’s really doing this. The sugar daddy thing isn’t just an inside joke between him and Murphy anymore. It is a real contract that has been signed, and he’s about to be living with Clarke.

Bellamy hasn’t lived with anyone since Echo three years ago. Nor has anyone called him _daddy_ since then. Though, Echo never really meant it when she said it. It took a year for him to work up the courage to confess that particular kink to her, and though she was willing to give it a try to make him happy, it was clear that it did nothing for her. It was touching that she kept trying, but it just felt so forced. Everything she said was right, but it was like she had to google what to say instead of just letting it happen.

He doesn’t mean to think of his ex as he parallel parks in front of Clarke’s building. It’s been long enough that Bellamy hardly thinks of her at all. Occasionally, he runs into her, and they make small talk like former classmates who haven’t seen each other since graduation. It’s not awkward. It should be. Bellamy did propose rather publicly and get rejected, after all. But it seems like another life ago. That Bellamy is not the same Bellamy he is now. That Bellamy was looking for a lifeline when Octavia cut him off and thought clinging to Echo was the answer. Thank God Echo had the sense to shoot him down.

“It’s open!” Clarke calls out when he knocks on her door. He pushes open the door, and something feels off about the knob. Bellamy messes with it for a few seconds and eyes the deadbolt. It doesn’t work. Clarke is living in this neighborhood with a deadbolt that doesn’t work.

“You know your deadbolt doesn’t work, right?” he asks.

Clarke is taping a box shut on the living room floor. Her hair is thrown up into a messy bun, and she’s wearing barely any makeup, if any. Her little cut-offs are cute. Cute enough to momentarily distract him from the broken deadbolt.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Figured that out the day I moved in. My landlord said a police officer had to kick the door open a few months before I moved in, and that’s why it’s busted.”

Everything about that is terrifying. Bellamy grew up not far from this building, and he knows exactly how badly things can go for a girl who lives alone in an apartment with a broken deadbolt. Panic jolts through him even though he knows that Clarke is perfectly fine, and before he can stop himself, he asks, “Do you have any idea how easy it would be to break into your apartment?”

Clarke stops labeling the box and peers up at him with wide eyes. For a second, he thinks she is going to argue with him. But after a beat, Clarke turns her gaze back to the box, finishes writing the label, and caps the sharpie.

“I tried not to think about it,” she mumbles.

He opens his mouth to apologize, to explain that he was just worried and not mad at her. But then Clarke tries to lift the box, and Bellamy insists on carrying it for her. They get distracted in a little argument over who carries what to his car, and the thing about the deadbolt is long forgotten.

The rest of the move goes smoothly. Clarke doesn’t have much, so it’s not hard to have all her things brought up to his place. Bellamy gives her an abridged tour of the apartment that ends in her new room. He can’t make out her expression as she looks around, and he finds himself fidgeting as she walks through the room.

When he can’t take the anxiety of waiting for her reaction any longer, he says, “Why don’t you unpack a little and get some rest?” She turns to look at him, and a hint of a smile is on her lips. He exhales in relief. She likes it. Thank God. “I’ve got a bit of work to do. I’ll make us dinner in a bit.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, walking back toward him. “Thank you.”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. Her cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink, and he curses himself for not doing this years ago. Roan and Murphy were right. This right here is exactly what he’s been wanting. Clarke is perfect.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she corrects.

That word floods his chest with warmth, and it takes all his willpower to only kiss her cheek. But he wants to keep this chaste. Perfectly innocent, for now. Bellamy wants to take his time with her. Wants to savor being her first. He’s never been someone’s first anything before.

“You’re welcome, baby,” he murmurs against her cheek before giving her a second quick kiss. Her bottom lip is taken between her teeth as Bellamy pulls away, and he aches to take it between his teeth. Soon, he will. He just has to be patient. “Get some rest. Plan to be up late tonight.”

He catches a glimpse of her furious blush before shutting the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An obscene amount of smut happens next chapter. Everything from the kink meme version of this plus the grand finale. Brace yourselves.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tick tock it's cock o'clock

She unpacks a few boxes before giving in and taking a nap. The bed is impossibly soft, a lot like her old one back home. Clarke drifts to sleep easier than she has in months. No dreams, though. Just heavy, deep sleep. The kind where she wakes up to drool on her pillow and no concept of what year it is.

Clarke isn’t sure when Bellamy is making dinner, but she figures she should be getting ready for it. She digs through the box labeled “bathroom” to find her razor, shampoo, conditioner, and soap, before she sleepily pads into her new bathroom. When she flicks the light on, she nearly drops everything. It’s bigger than her bedroom in her last apartment.

She just stands there for a few minutes, letting her hands glide over the cool, marble counter as she surveys her new bathroom. A walk-in shower. A separate bathtub. A door to a closet Clarke hasn’t even explored yet. And to think just this morning, she was scraping old nail polish off the side of that beige, filthy tub.

Her shower is heavenly. Constant stream of warm water, no flashes of cold midway through. Clarke lets her wet hair fall on her shoulders as she wraps a towel around her body. She walks back into her bedroom to grab clean underwear when she sees two boxes wrapped with bows sitting on her bed. Bellamy must have dropped them off while she was in the shower.

She can’t remember the last time she got a present. Maybe it was her last birthday, but she’s pretty sure that’s the one her mom forgot. The year before, then.

Clarke fiddles with the white bow, almost too pretty to undo. But her giddiness wins out, and she tugs off the ribbon and pulls open the box. Inside lies a white dress with the tag still on it.

Her eyes fall on the price. It’s more than her rent last month. A far cry from her eleven dollar Forever 21 dress. She can’t help but run her fingers over the fabric, testing out the smooth texture on her skin.

Clarke glances over at the other box. It’s smaller, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it will be less extravagant. Often, the smallest boxes contain the most elegant gifts like jewelry. This time, she tugs the ribbon hard and yanks open the box. A blush creeps up her neck when she sees what’s inside.

It’s a matching bra and panty set. White, just like her new dress. Covered in lace. It’s the kind of lingerie that she’s only seen women in movies wear.

Bellamy must want her to wear these. That thought makes her breath quicken. She’s never worn lingerie before. The closest she got was coordinating a black bra and panties that Finn Collins never got to see her in.

The color choice is odd, though. Clarke thinks of red and black as sexy colors, not white. It’s too close to her skin tone. And far too reminiscent of what a bride would wear on her wedding night. Virginal, even. The farthest thing from sexy that Clarke could imagine.

Still, her gifts are beautiful, and she can’t wait to put them on.

Impatient, Clarke quickly dries and curls her hair. Her makeup takes longer than she’d like, but by the time she starts smelling something delicious wafting in from the kitchen, she’s all but dressed.

The soft white panties feel heavenly against her skin. And Clarke nearly gasps when she sees herself in the mirror after hooking her new bra. Her breasts are pushed up beautifully. She keeps turning around to observe herself in the mirror. Clarke can’t stop looking at herself. Her fingers trail over the delicate lace, unable to move past how good it feels.

A sizzling sound from the kitchen jerks her out of her daze, and Clarke steps into her new dress. The fabric hugs her curves perfectly, and once again, Clarke finds herself spinning around in front of the mirror grinning wildly.

As the sun sets outside her window, Clarke slips on a pair of wedges and steps out of her bedroom. Not sure where the kitchen is yet, she follows the smell and finds Bellamy chopping vegetables at the counter.

Clarke feels a bit shaky as she makes her way to him. Reality sets in. This is really happening. She’s all dolled up in the lingerie and dress he picked out for her, just waiting for him to tear them off her and fuck her.

Her cunt clenches around nothing when Bellamy lifts his head and sees her. She bites down on her lip hard as his dark eyes rake over her. He moves his finger in a small circle, gesturing for her to turn for him. She feels silly doing it now, but she indulges him. He bought her the outfit because he wanted to look at her in it, after all.

“Did you get all dressed up for me, baby?” he asks, his voice warm and fond. A blush spreads across her cheeks as she nods. Bellamy sets his knife down and wipes his hand off on a towel before walking over to her. Clarke stays perfectly still, pressing her thighs together, and his fingers find her chin again. She waits expectantly for their second kiss, but he stops just shy of her lips. “Do you like your presents?”

“Yes. Thank you, Daddy,” she whispers. The word still feels so strange on her lips.

It’s a brief kiss. If she blinked, she would have missed it. He lets go of her and turns back to his cooking. Without meaning to, a pout falls on her lips.

Bellamy clucks his tongue at her as he picks up the knife again. “Be patient,” he chuckles. “We have all night.”

The bottle of chardonnay he picks is expensive. Clarke vaguely recognizes the label from Christmas at her grandfather’s house. Bellamy pours them both a glass before returning to the kitchen to grab the salmon he prepared.

He talks a little about cooking with his mom as a kid. There’s a hint of sadness in his voice that tells Clarke his mother isn’t alive anymore. It’s something anyone who has lost a parent can recognize in another orphaned soul.

She instantly feels guilty for thinking of herself as an orphan. Her mother is still alive, after all. But she hasn’t acted like Clarke’s mother in years. Clarke might as well be an orphan.

About halfway through Clarke’s glass, she feels the alcohol kick in. She’s a bit of a lightweight. Never had much time to drink in college, so she never built up a tolerance. “I should slow down,” she says, switching to the glass of water in front of her.

An amused grin forms on his lips as he swallows a piece of salmon. “Lightweight, huh?” he teases. “You really are a good girl.”

She ducks her head and focuses on her plate. Bellamy is a good cook. Clarke hadn’t imagined someone who lived in a place like this would actually cook for himself. But that’s the difference between someone who grew up with money and someone who grew up without. Bellamy learned how to take care of himself. Clarke didn’t.

Conversation shifts to school, and Clarke tells him about all the classes she’s taking this semester. For a while, she forgets their arrangement and what is going to happen tonight. It’s so easy to talk to him. Bellamy listens attentively and asks all the right questions. She gets lost in their conversations, and then he’ll grab her hand or call her baby, and she’s reminded that he is going to be inside her soon. It’s a realization that floods her with equal parts nervousness and excitement.

Bellamy insists on taking her plate for her when their meal is finished, leaving Clarke fidgeting at the table as she waits for him to come back. The wine buzzes in her veins, making her feel warm all over.

Clarke had assumed that when it came time for this to actually happen, the odd excitement she’s felt for the past week would wash away and be replaced with dread or, at the very least, heavy anxiety. But neither make an appearance. The only unpleasant feeling coursing through her is impatience, which is just a symptom of the overwhelming feeling that has been building up since she met Bellamy: want.

She’s hoping it’s finally time when he comes back, but instead, he pours a bit more into her glass and finishes off the bottle with his before leading her into the living room. They share the couch this time, and Bellamy puts his arm around her shoulders. Her leg is pressed tight against his, and their faces are maybe six inches apart at most. His hand rubs up and down her bare arm, his touches somehow in rhythm with the buzzing beneath her skin.

They don’t talk much, and when they do, it feels heavier than it did at dinner. They must be getting close.

After a few minutes, Bellamy takes the glass from her hand and sets it on the coffee table. He pulls her a little closer and pushes her hair back behind her ear. His fingertip grazes her lobe, sending a jolt through her.

Clarke waits expectantly for a kiss, but he’s not looking at her face. His eyes are following his fingers as they trail down her neck.

“Are you nervous?” he whispers, and he’s close enough that she can feel his breath fan out against her skin.

“A little,” she confesses, and the corners of his mouth turn up.

“Don’t be. I’ll take care of you.”

Bellamy leans forward and presses a kiss just below her jaw. Clarke tilts her head back and bites down hard on her lip. His mouth travels down her neck, taking his sweet time to kiss each patch of untouched skin. It’s torture in its purest form. He chuckles as Clarke squirms yet makes no move to kiss her any way but gently.

“Any boys ever do this with you?” he murmurs against her collarbone. The way he says _boys_ makes her feel like she’s still a teenager.

“One. That boyfriend from high school,” she admits, though comparing Finn’s slobbery mouth on her neck to the reverential way Bellamy kisses her feels wrong.

Bellamy stops and asks, “Was he as good as me?” There’s an edge to his voice. Something rough and low. Possessive, almost. She likes it, though she probably shouldn’t.

The question is so ridiculous that Clarke can’t stifle the chuckle that bubbles up when she replies, “Oh God, no.”

Satisfied, he returns to his slow, torturous kisses and works his way back up her neck. His arm stays around her. His hand rests over her knee, so large that it covers it. Bellamy’s mouth rests just below her ear as he lets out a breath. She shudders.

He pulls back, and Clarke’s eyes drop to his reddened lips. She needs him to kiss her. And not one of those chaste kisses either. A real slow and dirty one. She’s about to do it herself but nerves get the better of her. Clarke freezes halfway into leaning toward him, her eyes glued to his lips as a quiver takes over her own.

Bellamy’s hand leaves her knee and comes up to cup her cheek. “Do you want something, baby?” he murmurs. His thumb trails over her cheekbone at an agonizing pace.

She nods pitifully. “A kiss,” she tries to say in a steady voice, but it comes out like a whine. His arm tightens around her, almost pulling her into his lap.

He starts to lean in, but at the last second, he turns to kiss her cheek instead. “Here?” he teases.

“No,” she whines.

He kisses her again, this time an inch closer to her mouth. She squirms a little closer, settling both her legs over his lap. His next kiss is to the corner of her mouth, and it’s so close to what she needs that a gasp falls off her lips.

His lips hover over hers, as if testing to see if it’s enough to make her snap. It almost is. But she clings to her last ounce of patience and is rewarded with the slow press of his lips to hers. A noise escapes the back of her throat, almost like a whimper.

Bellamy’s mouth is warm against hers and tastes like chardonnay. His tongue teases at the seam of her mouth and darts in as soon as her lips part. His hand doesn’t leave her face. No, he holds her there as his lips conquer hers and his other arm tightens around her. Her chest is pressed hard against his, letting her feel each rise of his chest grow less steady. Her hands cling to his shirt collar and neck, desperate for something to hold onto.

Clarke has kissed a few people. Most of her kissing experience is from her time with Finn, but she got some practice with Lexa and Niylah over the past few years. Not a single kiss ever felt like this one, though. This one is hungry and consuming, like she’s helpless as Bellamy surrounds and devours her. And she kind of likes letting him take over for a bit. It makes her feel lighter. 

His hand finally leaves her cheek and settles on her waist. The heat of his touch bleeds through the expensive fabric, making her feel warm all over. He hums appreciatively as his hand slides up and down her waist.

Her eyes fall shut when it first grazes the side of her breast. It takes a few slides for him to do it again, but when he does, she arches into him.

“Baby,” he murmurs before his teeth take her bottom lip. The word vibrates through her, making her squirm closer. She’s pressing her thighs together so tight and it’s not enough.

Bellamy seems to ignore that, his focus staying instead on her breast. There are too many layers of between his hand and her skin. She can feel his touches and squeezes but not as well as she needs.

“Can’t wait to get this off you,” he growls. Her cunt clenches around nothing.

“I thought you liked me in this dress,” she tries to tease, but her voice is too needy.

“I do. You look so pretty.” Clarke preens under the compliment, smiling too widely and not caring about how red her cheeks must be. “But I bet you look just as pretty in the other presents I got you.”

Clarke had forgotten all about the lacy lingerie she’s wearing under the dress. She wonders if he’ll make her turn in a circle for him in those too or if it’ll be enough to break his composed demeanor.

“You want to show Daddy your other presents, don’t you?” he murmurs. “Show me how pretty you look in them?”

Clarke nods quickly and is met with a hard, searing kiss to her lips.

His voice is rough when he speaks again. “Let’s go back to my room, and then you can show me, baby.”

Bellamy’s room is dark. Rich brown walls, dark wood furniture, and a burgundy comforter on top of the king-sized bed. Dim lights illuminate the large room with an almost candlelit glow. The whole room just feels warm and cozy, a sharp contrast from the rest of the house. This room feels like Bellamy.

He’s behind her. His hands pull her back by the waist so she’s flush against him. Something hard presses against her back.

“You want to show me?” Bellamy whispers right into her ear. His voice shakes a little, and Clarke is relieved that his composure is starting to dissipate. At least she isn’t the only one feeling overwhelmed.

“I need help,” she tells him.

His lips smack a quick kiss to her cheek before he says, “Okay.” Her hair tickles as Bellamy pushes it onto one shoulder. Fingers graze against her skin as he unhooks the top. Clarke’s breath quickens with each brief touch.

This is really happening.

He drags the zipper down at an agonizingly slow pace, and her mind spins. He’s going to fuck her. Right here in this room. Clarke isn’t the kind of person who ever put much value to how she lost her virginity. It’s just sex, after all. Everyone has it, and it doesn’t really mean much. But she had always thought it would be with a long-term boyfriend or girlfriend, maybe even with someone she loved.

Yet here she is basically selling it to a man she met a week ago. A kind man. One who has been nothing but gentle with her, but still a stranger of sorts. And she wants him. More than she ever thought possible. Clarke can’t make sense of this.

Bellamy slips the straps off her shoulders, and as the elegant white dress falls to the ground, Clarke waits for her anxiety to take over and for her mind to change. But the panicked thoughts never come. She wants this. She wants him.

His hand slides across her back and waist as he steps around her. Her heart pounds while his dark eyes rake over her. Bellamy sits down at the edge of the bed, his legs spread wide, and pulls her by the waist to make her stand between his legs.

Clarke holds her breath as Bellamy drags his hands up her thighs, over the thin panties, past her waist, and stopping just as his thumbs reach the underwire of her bra. His eyes somehow feel heavier than his hands on her skin.

His dark eyes finally meet hers, and he whispers, “Very pretty, baby.” Warmth floods her.

Bellamy lets his fingers explore the lace of her bra for a few seconds, but it’s clear his attention is on her, not on the presents he bought her. His hands prefer being on her skin. Her thighs, her waist, her cleavage… his hands seem to be everywhere.

Those hands pull her down to his lap. Her thighs straddle him, and her breasts press right in his face.

“Fuck,” he growls before kissing right between them. Arms wrapped around his neck, she relaxes into him. Clarke can feel his erection resting just below her cunt. Curiously, Clarke shifts against it, and Bellamy swears under his breath. It feels good, but not quite enough. Maybe it’ll feel better when he’s out of his pants.

His mouth trails all over her chest, pressing hot kisses like he did to her neck earlier. It’s nice. Soothing, even. Clarke could probably fall asleep to these kinds of kisses if she weren’t so keyed up. So, she keeps pressing down on Bellamy’s growing erection, trying to relieve the throbbing between her legs.

“Baby,” he moans. His voice rumbles as he speaks, sending a shudder through her. It’s rougher than before, and she likes it. “You’re teasing me.”

“No, I’m not,” she corrects. If anything, he’s been teasing her. All night, actually. Slowly flooding her with arousal yet doing very little to help her.

“I think you are.” Bellamy lets go of her waist and slips his hand between her legs. A quiet whimper falls off her lips when his hand cups her cunt over her panties. “Oh.” His hand shifts, and Clarke buries her face into his shoulder as she whimpers again. “You’re all wet.”

“Uh huh,” she mumbles. Three fingers rub up and down the crotch of her panties while Clarke pants into his shirt.

“Poor thing,” he coos. “Let me help.”

Carefully, he shifts her off his lap and onto the bed beside him. Her legs dangle off the edge. The loss of his hand is torture, but before she can get too upset, she sees Bellamy get down on his knees by the bed.

Bellamy hooks his thumbs over her white panties and says, “I don’t think we need these anymore.” He tugs them down with a hurried pace. Clarke props herself up on her elbows as Bellamy pushes her legs apart. His eyes stare at her bare cunt, and he licks his lips. Then, he looks up at her. “You have a very pretty pussy, baby.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” she says, her voice sounding strangled.

A single finger slides between her folds as he asks, “Any boys touch you here? Other than that old boyfriend of yours?” His grip on her thigh tightens possessively as he waits for the answer. She shakes her head. A lecherous grin forms on his lips. “Nobody but me, huh?”

“Nobody but you, Daddy.”

He drops his head and murmurs, “Fuck, Clarke. You’re killing me.” When he regains his composure, he tilts his head back up and presses a slow, wet kiss to her cunt.

His mouth gives her little kisses. One just outside her folds. Another to her clit. A short one to the mole just above her slit.

When he’s done peppering her with those kisses, his fingers trail down her folds. “How long have you been wet for me, baby?” he whispers. His breath hits her clit, and Clarke jerks involuntarily.

“Since before dinner.”

“My poor baby,” he tuts. She thinks he’s going to keep playing with her, but then he flattens his tongue on her clit. Clarke cries out, and Bellamy uses one arm to pin her hips down.

He gets into a rhythm, licking her clit a few times before giving her a gentle suck. A finger presses in and out of her, stretching her out. It’s good. It’s really good. It’s so much better than her own fingers. If Clarke had known it could feel like this, she wouldn’t have waited so long.

Clarke can feel the orgasm building. Sometimes, if she has the time, she can almost make herself feel like this. Most of the time, though, she gets a shallow one. Enough to take the edge off so she can go to sleep, but not enough to make her body vibrate with warmth and her head fall back.

Bellamy has her squirming against him, desperately trying to buck her hips even as he holds her down. Her fingers find their way into his curly hair, and Bellamy growls against her clit as she gives him a light tug. The vibration of his growl alone is almost enough to make her come.

It’s like he can sense it’s coming. He slides his middle finger inside her too, and it’s just long enough to hit this spot that makes her shudder. Bellamy hits it a few more times and pushes her over. Her vision blurs and her grip on his hair tightens. A sound she’s never heard herself make is dragged from the back of her throat. It’s something like a moan combined with a scream. Clarke thought screaming only happens in porn.

Her cunt clenches around his fingers as they continue to fuck into her. His mouth leaves her clit, and he looks up at Clarke. There’s a focused look behind his eyes that she feels too hazy to make sense of.

Clarke lets her head fall back onto the mattress as the pleasure washes over her. As she feels her body start to relax again, Bellamy gets a third finger into her. The stretch burns, making her eyes start to water and her legs shake.

“Too much,” she chokes out. Is he trying to make her come again? Clarke’s never made herself come more than once. She never really has the time and it seems like too much work.

“You can take it,” he growls. “Take it for me, baby.” She can’t even bring herself to sit up this time. Clarke just writhes beneath him, clutching the comforter so she has something to hold onto.

He’s right, though. She can and does take it. And as the stretch subsides, she can feel the build start again. But it’s hotter this time, and more unfamiliar noises fly off her lips as she writhes against his mouth again. Tears stream down her cheeks as his fingers crook inside her. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It feels like her first orgasm barely ends before the second one crashes into her. Clarke’s never been stuffed this full before, and it’s just his fingers.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice sounding so far away. She needs him closer. Needs him to kiss her.

Clarke pulls at his hair and she’s faintly aware of her whining for him. Her words sound unintelligible to her, but somehow, the message must get across to him. Bellamy pushes himself to his feet and clambers to the bed beside her. His fingers pet at her clit as he slams his lips onto hers. There’s an odd taste in his mouth now.

It’s a sloppy kiss. Her bottom lip quivers and she’s too overwhelmed to follow what his tongue is doing. And frankly, she doesn’t care if it’s a good kiss. She just needs him close.

When his fingers slip out of her, he reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Clarke rests her forehead against his as she catches her breath.

“Baby,” he whispers, and Clarke blinks her eyes open to catch him staring at her. Her lips still wobble when she gives him a kiss, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “That was a lot, wasn’t it, sweetheart?” His voice is so warm and fond, making something flutter in her chest. She nods weakly and presses herself closer to him. “It’s okay. Daddy’s got you.”

It’s like the word never properly hit before. _Daddy_. Clarke thought it was kind of hot and felt her cheeks heat whenever she said it. But now that she is overwhelmed and happy and on the verge of tears, the word takes on a whole new meaning. _Daddy’s got you_. And he does. He’s holding her tight and kissing her like he loves her, and though she’s still so overwhelmed, she feels safe… because Daddy’s got her.

Clarke isn’t sure how long they kiss like that. Bellamy’s hand slides up and down her side at a comforting pace. She feels warm. Despite only wearing a bra, every inch of her feels so pleasantly warm.

Her cunt still pulses, though not as intensely as it was before. Slowly, the haziness lifts off her but the buzz still remains. As she comes back to herself, Clarke notices that Bellamy is still dressed. Only his shoes have been discarded.

“How do you feel?” he whispers before resting his lips on her cheek.

“Good,” she murmurs. “Really good.” Clarke can feel his smile against her skin, and goosebumps prickle on her arms.

Bellamy pulls her up a little, and his hand finds the clasp of her bra. “Ready to keep going?” he asks, and Clarke nods frantically. On the first try, he gets it unhooked. The cold air strikes her breasts as soon as he pulls the white, lacy bra off her and discards it with the rest of her new clothes.

He hovers over her for a moment, his dark eyes drinking in her newly exposed breasts. Clarke feels like a present he just unwrapped, and in a way, she is. His fingers trail over her nipple. The featherlight touch makes them harden immediately.

“Look at my pretty baby,” he murmurs sweetly, and her breath catches. His tenderness is too much. “So beautiful.”

She’s never been naked in front of another person before, not counting anything before the age of five and that time Raven walked in on her in the shower. Clarke hasn’t had to put much thought into how she looks naked in the past. Ever since she decided to look into being a sugar baby, though, it’s been at the forefront of her mind. She’d let her gaze linger on her naked form after slipping out of the shower, poking and prodding at the extra weight around her hips. As much as she tried to push it out of her thoughts, Clarke has been worried about this exact moment.

But with one word, Bellamy banishes those anxieties from her mind. _Beautiful_. When was the last time Clarke heard that word?

She melts into him as his hand cups her breast. It feels so much better than it did on his couch now that she can feel his hot skin against hers.

He’s taking his time with her again, but she has no idea how. Clarke can feel his erection straining against his pants. How is he so patient?

Bellamy kisses her slowly as his hand explores her breast. When she touches herself like this, it does nothing for her. But somehow, his firm hand has her aching for more. His fingers pluck and trace her nipples, making them hard.

“Daddy,” she whispers, and he hums in response while kissing down her neck to her sternum. “I need—”

His head pops up, and his warm eyes lock with hers. “What do you need?”

Clarke bites down on her lip as she tries to figure out what she was going to say. What she really needs is for him to fuck her, but the thought of saying that makes her cheeks turn red.

She wonders if he can read her thoughts somehow because a knowing smile forms on his lips. Maybe she won’t have to say it.

“Tell me, baby,” he murmurs sweetly. He wants her to say it.

“I need,” she sighs, frustrated. She can’t think of how to phrase it in a way that won’t flood her with embarrassment. Clarke has no idea what she’s doing, nor how to ask for what she wants. Asking him to fuck her feels too crude for what they’re doing, but any other phrasing sounds clinical.

“You have to tell me.”

“Your cock,” she blurts out, not sure where that came from. That wasn’t one of the phrases she has been going over in her head. It just spills off her lips, like she’s said it a thousand times before.

A blush creeps across her chest and up her neck, and she wishes she could reach one of the pillows so she could hide her face in it. She half expects Bellamy to laugh like she’s a toddler testing out a new cuss word she overheard somewhere.

“Fuck,” he growls, burying his face between her breasts. The low curse vibrates across her skin. “Baby, is that what you want?”

When he pulls his head up to look at her, his pupils appear blown. There’s a hungry look behind them. Clarke feels breathless just looking at him.

She nods weakly, and another curse falls off his lips. Bellamy scrambles back to his feet, and his fingers fly to the buttons on his shirt. Clarke pushes herself up, sitting at the edge of the bed as he throws his dress shirt aside.

Her eyes catch on his muscled chest. The tight t-shirt he wore to move her out of her apartment left little to the imagination, but the sight of his muscles still catch her off guard. A few freckles dust his shoulders just like his cheeks, and not for the first time, Clarke itches to draw him. Maybe he would let her. He hasn’t said no to her yet.

She’s too transfixed by his broad chest that she doesn’t notice he’s undoing his pants until he finally pulls them down. Her mind only focuses again when his briefs are discarded and he’s nudging her backwards on the bed. Clarke catches a mere glimpse of his thick cock before her head falls back onto the mattress, but it’s enough for her to know that it’s big… possibly too big for a virgin.

“Shh, I got you,” he murmurs as he crawls over her. Their lips meet sloppily as his body relaxes on top of hers. It feels right this way. No more nice shirts or dresses between them, just skin against skin. He kisses her until the tension finally leaves her, and then he pulls off her. Clarke instantly misses his weight.

Bellamy pushes her thighs apart as he positions himself at her entrance. The head of his cock bumps against her clit. After a beat, he leans over Clarke to grab something from the nightstand. Not a condom, of course. This was agreed upon in their contract since both of them are clean and Clarke is on birth control.

It’s lube, she realizes as soon as she hears him squirt it into his hand. He slicks his cock up with the shiny substance, and she can’t help but watch. Clarke feels just as transfixed by the sight as she did when she first saw his chest.

“Baby,” he whispers, and it’s obvious she has been caught. There’s a teasing smile on his lips, one that makes her cheeks turn a shade redder.

“Yes, Daddy?” she challenges, and the cocky expression melts back into hunger.

Bellamy lines up with her entrance again. Her eyes remain glued to his cock as he slowly presses the head in. It’s a stretch, much like his thick fingers were. Clarke takes deep breaths and watches him press further in. The stretch begins to burn and tears sting in her eyes.

“Want me to stop?” he whispers.

“No.” Her eyes flicker up to his. Bellamy is already looking at her. He would stop if she asked. That much she can see. And realizing that somehow makes it easier to take the rest of him. The stretch still hurts and she’s scared he’s too big, but she trusts him. She trusts that he will take care of her.

_Trust_. When was the last time Clarke actually trusted someone? Probably her mom after her first stint in rehab saying it’s all going to change now. Four years. Clarke Griffin hasn’t trusted another soul in four years.

He starts to pull out, and relief floods her senses. Then, he’s stretching her out again, and Clarke finds herself reaching up to hold onto the back of his neck.

“I got you,” he promises. And he does. When he pushes in the third time, it’s easier somehow. Then, the fourth and the fifth. And somewhere along the way, Clarke stops counting because it doesn’t ache anymore.

It feels good. Different than his fingers felt, like she’s more full now when he jerks into her. She can feel his cock throbbing inside her, filling her aching cunt properly for the first time.

Her grip on his neck tightens and he lowers himself enough for her to crane her neck up and kiss him. He hums into her mouth happily.

“So good,” he grunts between kisses. “You feel so good.” His fingers weave into her curls before taking a firm hold. Then, he ducks his face into her neck. His breath fans out hot against her skin in quiet pants. Her hand slides up into his hair, not pulling but just holding on.

They hold onto each other like that for a while. The only sounds made between them are their labored breaths and the wet slapping of skin. His scalp grows damp with sweat, and her own body feels a bit clammy from the heat too. But it’s nice. His body is so hot against hers like it could burn her. It’s consuming, covering every inch of her as if Bellamy were a warm blanket wrapping her up.

His lips find hers again before he pushes one of her legs onto his shoulder. The angle is different. Somehow, his cock feels deeper than earlier. The ache lasts for all of two seconds and then Clarke starts to feel something build. It feels just like when he pushed his middle finger into her and hit that one spot.

“Daddy,” she whimpers, not even meaning to. Her lips wobble as she tries to form a sentence. But her thoughts are incoherent. All she can think about are his hips slamming into hers.

“You okay?” he pants, and Clarke nods frantically. Okay is an understatement. Clarke is something else altogether, something she’s never been before. “Yeah, you’re okay. You’re so good. Taking me so good.”

He drops her leg and lets it fall back to the mattress. Bellamy presses back into her and rests his forehead against hers. His lips hover over hers, moving against her lips as he speaks.

“Baby, fuck,” he whispers. “Such a tight, perfect, little cunt you saved for me.”

Her eyes fall shut when she clenches around his cock. She’s close. She’s so fucking close. It’s right there. Clarke is just sitting at the highest peak of the rollercoaster waiting to fall.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he murmurs, and Clarke tilts her head up slightly so she can kiss him properly. It’s a mess. Too hungry and desperate as she tips over.

Tears prickle in her eyes as he slams harder into her. She’s too full, too stuffed with him inside her. It’s relentless and perfect and exhausting and beautiful. There are noises coming out of her mouth that she recognizes from earlier, but they’re muffled by his mouth as he swallows them up. Her back arches off the bed, and that’s the last thing she’s coherent enough to process before her orgasm storms through her.

She can hear him grunting and murmuring things to her. Clarke can feel his hot skin against hers. Her cunt squeezes around his pulsing cock, only faintly aware of heat flooding into her.

His lips land on her cheek, closer to her ear than to her mouth. “Baby,” he murmurs. His voice vibrates against her skin. “Fuck, baby.” There’s something slightly wrecked about his voice that pulls her back out of her daze. She turns her head to see the face that accompanied such a broken, beautiful sound. Gone was the composure she found at their first meeting and the hunger that occasionally slipped through. This expression is almost lost, dazed even. Spent and happy, and it’s kind of beautiful. She never wanted to stop seeing it.

She would one day, of course. The arrangement is temporary, just lasting as long as they both want it. One day, he’ll probably meet some woman who owns her own company or an heiress at some party and realize he doesn’t need Clarke anymore, and that’s okay. One day, Clarke will be on her own again but better off because of his help and she’ll find her own person too. What they have right now is just a filler. An in-between. A way to forget their loneliness.

And she’s okay with that.

Clarke reaches for his cheek, letting her fingers trace over the soft freckles finally. He chuckles a little, and the sound warms her chest. Bellamy presses a quick kiss to her lips before he starts to pull out of her.

She aches, but it’s a nice ache. Like she worked out a little too hard the day before kind of ache.

Bellamy leaves the bed, and before Clarke can protest, he says, “I’m starting a bath.”

Clarke hums, feeling sleepy all the sudden. A warm bath sounds nice. She treated herself to a bubble bath a few months ago, and she’s been aching for another one. But it takes too much time and isn’t all that efficient. A shower is always the more practical choice.

A soft lavender scent wafts in from the bathroom, and she hears his footsteps approaching her. “Baby,” he whispers, and a smile tugs at her lips. She likes that endearment. No one has ever called her that before. It’s a little cheesy, but it makes something warm pool in her belly every time. “Can you walk or should I carry you?”

She thinks it’s a joke, but when she looks up at him, she realizes he’s serious. Curious, Clarke replies, “Maybe you should carry me.” As soon as she says it, she knows it’s the answer he was hoping for by the way his eyes light up.

Bellamy lifts her off the bed like she weighs nothing, and she curls into his chest. She’s about to tell him that he’s spoiling her when she remembers that spoiling her is kind of the point. He wants to do these kinds of things. He wants to take care of her.

His bathroom isn’t much bigger than hers, but his bathtub is. It’s filled with bubbles, and she’s reminded of how she would try to draw pictures using the bubbles on the wall during bath time as a kid.

Bellamy sets her feet down on the soft rug and steps back to grab something off the counter, his hand never leaving her back. When he returns, he’s holding a hair tie out for her. Clarke throws her hair up into a messy bun and lets Bellamy help her into the tub. He slips in behind her and pulls her back against his chest. She turns her head so it rests right on his chest. His heartbeat is nice and steady, much like him.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. His chest rumbles as he speaks, and the corners of her mouth twitch upward.

“Good. Really good,” she admits. “And sore.” They both laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles. She tilts her head up to look at him, and the same smile from before is on his lips. “What can I do to make it better?”

“How about a kiss?” she teases, tilting her head up. He averts his eyes as if he’s thinking about it, and without meaning to, Clarke begins to pout. As soon as he sees her bottom lip sticking out, he relents and leans down to peck her lips.

Satisfied, Clarke rests against his chest again and lets her eyes fall shut. She could fall asleep like this.

It doesn’t take long before she actually does.


	4. Chapter 4

Bellamy wakes up an hour before his alarm. He hates when that happens. There’s no point in trying to fall back to sleep, but there’s no sense in getting up either. He rolls onto his side, almost surprised when he sees Clarke asleep next to him.

It’s only his second morning waking up next to her. Yesterday morning after their first night together, he almost jumped when he saw her. After years of living in this apartment alone, having her here will take some getting used to.

He loves it, though. Just like he suspected when they first met, Bellamy can’t get enough of her. Even now, he finds himself pulling her into his chest even though he probably should leave her alone so she can sleep. Clarke hums sleepily as she curls into him, and it’s so sweet that he can’t help but kiss her forehead. The happy sigh that escapes her lips forces him to do it again. She’s stirring, and he needs to stop, but before he can bring himself to, she whispers into his neck, “What time is it?”

“Early. Go back to sleep.”

“You woke me up, Daddy.” There’s no heat behind that word, just a half-asleep whisper really. But just the sound of it makes him a little hard. He loves hearing that word.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs before feeling her sharp inhale against his throat. He shouldn’t have said it. After two days of this arrangement, it is already clear that word has as much of an effect on her as _daddy_ has on him.

He glances over at the alarm clock, noting he now has fifty minutes before it rings and he needs to get ready for work. That’s enough time to play.

Bellamy nudges her onto her back and kisses her slowly. Clarke’s eyes sleepily blink open as they kiss, brows furrowed as she winces at the light slipping in through the window. As she wakes up, Bellamy kisses across her soft cheek and down to her neck. He can feel the moan as it works its way up her throat.

“Baby,” he mouths below her jaw while his fingers unbutton her shirt. Really, it’s his shirt. He wore it yesterday and couldn’t help but put it on her after their shower last night. He loves seeing her in his clothes. Especially like this when she’s wearing nothing but his shirt in his bed.

Once the buttons are undone, he slips his hand under the fabric to cup her breast. Sleepily, she arches into his touch. He loves the sight of her pale breast being squeezed by his large hand. Loves it so much that he just keeps doing it while she shifts beneath him.

Her eyes fall shut again, too sleepy to try and keep her eyes open. For a second, he thinks she really wants to go back to sleep. But as soon as he removes his hand, she whines.

Two days together and she already has him wrapped around her finger. Bellamy’s fairly certain she isn’t even aware of that yet. One day, she will be, and he can only imagine the beautiful brattiness that will accompany that.

His hand slips down her stomach and takes its place between her legs. He starts slow, just rolling her clit with his fingers as he kisses down her throat. Small marks have formed on her pale skin, little love bites that she can easily cover up with makeup when she goes to class later. Bellamy didn’t try to mark her up, but her skin is so pale that it’s remarkably easy to put his mark on her. He gets a thrill looking over the hickeys. Just two days ago, she was wearing that white dress for him, never been touched before. And now, she looks like a well fucked woman who, after two straight days in bed with him, whines for more. Whines for her Daddy.

What a good girl he found.

Each little gasp goes straight to his cock. Clarke whimpers whenever he kisses her neck. Her legs spread even more, eager for him to press a finger inside. He doesn’t, though. Bellamy just keeps teasing her clit and feeling her squirm impatiently.

“Daddy,” she finally says.

“Hmm?”

“Can you…” Bellamy lifts his head up and raises his eyebrows. The sunlight streaming through the windows makes her hair shine gold against his dark sheets, and it illuminates her face enough that he can make out the pink on her cheeks. This might be his favorite part… the way she gets shy when she wants to get fucked. He nearly came on the spot that first night when she asked for his cock with a huge blush on her cheeks. “I need…”

“Baby, what do you need?”

Her baby blues meet his eyes, and she takes her bottom lip between her teeth. Bellamy removes his hand from between her legs, more as incentive for her to say it than anything. While her blush deepens, Bellamy takes this opportunity to push her hair out of her face.

“You.” She says it with a small pout. The way she bats her eyelashes makes him think that maybe she is starting to realize that she does has him wrapped around her little finger.

“Me?” She nods, but Bellamy doesn’t move an inch. The two of them just stare at each other. Bellamy waits for her to say what she really wants, and Clarke waits to get it without saying it. One of them will have to give, and after two days of being spoiled rotten, she thinks Bellamy will be the one to do it. When he doesn’t, Clarke grabs his hand and starts pulling it down toward her aching cunt. “No, no, no. You have to ask Daddy for what you want.”

Her brows furrow and she opens her mouth to argue, and he secretly wants her to. _Be bad_, he silently pleads. _Make me bend you over my knee_. But Clarke is a good girl. A very good girl. So far, she’s been downright angelic. There was a flash of brattiness during their first meeting, but nothing since then. It’ll make an appearance again, he knows it. He just has to be patient.

“Will you… will you fuck me?” Honey practically drips from her lips with how sweet those words sound. He nods because how could he say no to that? And she asked so nicely.

His hand slides between her legs, and he slowly presses a finger inside her. Then, a second. Bellamy checks the time and curses under his breath. As much as he wants to drag this out and tease her until she is on the verge of tears, he doesn’t have the time this morning.

Bellamy kicks off his briefs and strokes himself to full hardness. Clarke watches, her eyes wide and her cheeks pink. He can tell she itches to try touching him, and what he would give to call in sick and spend all morning with her unsure hand wrapped around his cock…

But they’re running out of time. Bellamy climbs over her and reaches for the lube.

He’s careful as he pushes inside her. Clarke was a little sore yesterday. _You’re just so big_, she told him with a blush.

“This okay?”

Clarke nods, not showing any sign of discomfort. Bellamy lets himself sink all the way into her. Her wet, velvety walls squeeze him perfectly, dragging a loud grunt from his lips. He can’t get over how perfect she feels.

“Baby,” he groans. After a few slow thrusts, Bellamy lowers himself on top of her and meets her lips. Their kisses are lazy, much like the way they move against each other. Despite how much they want each other, there’s still a sleepiness in how they fuck. Their eyes are open but straining to stay that way. There’s an extra layer of clinginess to how they press together, more like cuddling than fucking in some moments. He knows she’ll fall right back asleep as soon as they’re done, curling up happily in his bed and in his clothes before drifting off without a care in the world.

Bellamy has plenty of sex. Mostly semi-anonymous one-night stands. And they’re fun while they last, but none of them are like this. He’s getting to know the feel of Clarke against him. He’s learning how to touch her just right, what earns a moan or a whimper, and all the little tells that she wants something. There’s a familiarity that lets them be comfortable fucking before really waking up. This is something Bellamy hasn’t had in years, and fuck, he’s missed it.

His alarm goes off, and Bellamy groans in frustration. After he turns it off, Bellamy slips back inside Clarke and buries his face into her neck.

“Can you come for me, baby?” he murmurs into her skin. Before she can answer, he slips his hand down her stomach to find her clit.

“Mhmm,” she hums, and he can feel the sound in her throat before he even hears it. Her fingers find his hair as soon as he grazes her clit, and she gives a desperate pull as soon as he gives her some pressure. They pull and push at each other like that for a few minutes, and without a sound, Clarke fists his hair and buries her face into his neck. Her cunt pulses around him, and her small whimper is muffled by his skin. Not quite the moans or screams from the last two nights, but he almost likes it better this way. It’s a soft little sound made just for him.

Bellamy’s cock shudders inside her and he mouths at her shoulder as he comes to. Apparently, he put his alarm on snooze, and it chooses this beautiful moment to blast again. Bellamy slips out of her before he wants to and makes sure to turn it all the way off this time.

When he rolls back toward Clarke, she’s settled herself comfortably back on her pillow and blinks up at him sleepily. She stretches out like a cat who just found a ray of sunlight, and though she’s on the verge of slipping back into unconsciousness, she smiles up at him.

“I gotta get ready for work,” he sighs. Clarke hums in response, and her eyes fall shut. He leans forward to kiss her, and she turns right before he reaches her lips.

“You have to ask me for what you want.” She doesn’t even open her eyes as she says it. It sounds so sleepy and innocent, completely betraying the brattiness in her words.

His spent cock stirs, and he curses under his breath. Of course, she chooses now to be bad. He doesn’t have time to punish her for using his own words against him.

“Can I kiss you, baby?” he asks sweetly, and she grins like she knows she just got away with something. Clarke tilts her head back to him, and he gives her a quick kiss before sliding off the bed.

He spends his whole shower thinking about that cocky smile. Frustrated, Bellamy goes back and forth over whether her behavior warrants a spanking or if he is just desperate to know what it’s like to punish her. By the time he is dressed for work, he’s leaning toward punishing her.

But then, he walks back into his bedroom and sees her. Clarke is fast asleep and curled around his pillow, clutching it like she holds onto Bellamy as she drifts off. She’s still wearing his shirt but didn’t bother to button it back up. Her small foot pokes out from the tangled blankets. It’s too endearing of a sight to stay worked up about one little instance of brattiness. Especially when she has been such a good girl all weekend. Letting him fuck her over and over again, even waking up hours before she has to so he can fuck her one more time before he goes to work.

Before he leaves, he fixes the blankets so she’s covered and presses a kiss to the top of her head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of two parts. no smut this chapter, but I promise there will be some smut with feelings next chapter.

“That’s new,” Raven teases, pointing at the bracelet on her wrist. “A present from Daddy?”

Clarke swats her hand and shushes her. No one is close enough to hear. The library is always empty in the late afternoons. But still, Clarke doesn’t want anyone overhearing that. She did sign an NDA, after all. And while Bellamy is fine with her telling Raven about the arrangement, she can’t imagine he’d be happy if anyone else found out.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Looks expensive.” It was. Clarke looked it up online after she got it last week and saw that this little bangle was two hundred dollars. And this was a “just because he felt like it” present. She can’t imagine what he has planned for her birthday coming up. “Maybe I should toss Shaw aside and get me a sugar daddy.”

“You like Zeke,” Clarke reminds, and Raven sighs in agreement.

“Still. If your boyfriend feels like giving me a present just because, I wouldn’t object.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Clarke corrects. Bellamy is many things, but he’s not that, nor will he ever be. Sure, there are times where she is too caught up in the moment and finds herself wondering what it would be like if it were real, but those are few and far between. She’s fine with their arrangement. More than fine, really. It’s perfect. The contract is an odd kind of comfort. A security blanket she hasn’t had in a long time. As long as the contract is in effect, Bellamy will take care of her. That fact alone has lifted the world off of Clarke’s shoulders… even if it’s only temporary.

“How did you describe him to your mom? Did you tell her you’re a sugar baby?”

“God no,” she huffs. Clarke flips her book shut since it’s clear she won’t get any studying done while Raven is here. “It hasn’t come up.”

Raven raises an eyebrow to say she doesn’t believe that, but it’s the truth. Her mother felt so out of it last visit, so they really only talked about how she is doing in rehab. If she ever finds out that Clarke has moved apartments and doesn’t work three jobs anymore, Clarke will say she has a new boyfriend who is letting her live with him for the time being. Abby Griffin won’t like it, certainly not without meeting said boyfriend, but there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it. But the only way she’ll find out is if Clarke tells her, and Clarke has no intention of telling her anything.

Mercifully, Raven drops the subject and goes back to her homework. Clarke flips her book open again and manages to finish half the reading before her phone rings. She expects it to be Bellamy. Her only friend is sitting across from her, so who else would be calling?

But Marcus’ name lights up on her phone, and Clarke feels like she could throw up.

“Hey,” she whispers. Clarke leaves the rest of her things at the table and ducks outside so her phone call doesn’t distract anyone. “What’s going on?”

“Your mom’s getting out today.” No, no, no. There’s no fucking way. Clarke just saw her last week, and she is in no shape to leave the rehabilitation center this soon. “I pulled some strings, and they agreed to—”

“No!” Clarke yells, and a few students walking up the steps give her an odd look. “No,” she says more quietly. “She’s not ready to—”

“Actually—”

“Marcus, her doctor said months not weeks,” she groans.

“We got a second opinion.” Clarke clenches her jaw and rests her forehead against the brick wall. And right on cue, Marcus adds, “It’s different this time. You should have heard her yesterday. She promised—”

“She promised last time too,” Clarke reminds him, but it’s a losing battle and she knows it. Marcus has never once lost his faith in her mother, whereas Clarke hasn’t had it in years. He didn’t know how bad it was back then, nor does he know what it’s like to depend on an addict. The love he has for her makes him blind to the fact that she’s manipulating him again so that she can come home and get another fix.

She tries to imagine what goes on in his head. Maybe he sees Abby Griffin giving up pills for him when she wasn’t even willing to do it for her daughter. A June wedding next year and using every favor he has saved up to get her medical license back. And then, happily ever after.

It’s hard to fault him for the dream. She had one too back in the early days. One where her mom came home good as new just in time to move Clarke into her dorm and help her decide which sorority she would join. She imagined coming home on the weekends, going on shopping trips with her, bringing home whatever frat boy she would have been dating by then and hoping her mom loved him as much as she did. But none of that happened. Just like nothing Marcus has dreamed up will happen either. Her mom will be good for a few weeks at most.

“Just think before you spring her out,” Clarke pleads.

“I don’t know what you want me to do, Clarke. We’ve gone down the rehab road half a dozen times now, and it never seems to stick. She thinks she’ll get better at home.” Clarke winces at the word _home_. She knows Marcus means his own home, but that isn’t home to the Griffin women. Or maybe just for Clarke. Who knows if her mother still thinks of the top floor of that old building as her home? “I’ve taken leave from work. She’s still going to be doing therapy, and I’ll be around to look after her, I promise. And you can come by to visit whenever you want.”

_Visit_. Another word that makes her wince. A reminder that her home isn’t with her mother anymore. Clarke is a guest whenever she goes to see her and Marcus.

“I’m coming over.”

“You have class,” he reminds her, and Clarke lets out a groan. “Your mom will be pissed if she finds out you’re skipping classes. Look, I’ve got it on this end. How about you come over on Friday?”

The decision’s made. No point in arguing with him. What does Clarke know anyway? She’s only Abby’s daughter.

“Fine,” she mutters. Clarke hangs up before she says anything worse to him.

She does like Marcus. Her mom couldn’t find another man who loves her that much, certainly not with the kind of hell she’s put him through. And he means well. But to him, Clarke is an afterthought. Someone he tells the decisions to but doesn’t consult with. He’s Abby’s person now, not Clarke. And what’s worse is that her mother probably agrees.

Clarke doesn’t go to her class. She grabs her things from the table, offers Raven a vague explanation, and takes the bus back to Bellamy’s apartment. She takes her spot in the back of the bus, rests her head against the window, and puts her headphones in. That’s when she finally lets herself cry.

There’s a nice anonymity about crying in a bus. With her sunglasses on and so many people staring at their phones, no one notices her. In a public bathroom, there’s always a risk that someone will hear or see her crying, and next thing she knows she’s telling an abridged version of her life story to a well-meaning sophomore who suggests going to the counseling center. But normal people don’t cry out in the open, so no one ever suspects the girl with big sunglasses and headphones in is quietly crying in the back of the bus. It’s the perfect crying spot, especially over something as ridiculous as this.

It’s an old wound, one that hardly bothers her anymore. She’s fine, really.

The tears are wiped away before Clarke enters the building. The doorman stops her to ask if she’s alright, and she tells him she’s fine. She says the same thing to the couple she shares an elevator ride with.

She drops her things off in her room and changes into sleep shorts and a t-shirt. Then, she pads into Bellamy’s room and climbs into his bed. Her intention is to sleep whatever this is off, but she can’t seem to get comfortable. For half an hour, she shifts around in his bed, pleading for sleep to come. It doesn’t.

Clarke needs a distraction.

She feels silly as soon as the idea pops into her head, but she knows as soon as she thinks of it that nothing else could possibly make her feel better. So, she goes back to her room, pulls out the still packed box of books and DVD’s from the back of her massive closet, and grabs every Disney Princess movie she owns.

Clarke settles herself in what Bellamy calls his media room, but Clarke just thinks of it as a bonus room. There’s a massive flat screen and one of those U-shaped couches that are easy to sprawl out on. Before she moved in, he apparently had a lot of late-night gaming sessions in here. Now, he barely touches it. They watched a movie in here once, but then, they started kissing, and next thing she knew he was eating her out on the couch. She can’t even remember what movie it was.

The Little Mermaid is first, as always. It was her favorite as a kid, later to be replaced by The Princess and the Frog or Tangled. She goes back and forth on which is her favorite now. By the time Part of Your World comes on, Clarke is focused only on what is happening on the screen.

She doesn’t understand why this works. It kept her calm during AP exams back in high school, and it’s combatted every panic attack since. Maybe it’s just a comfort thing. She knows these movies backwards and forwards. They’re constant. Always the same girl with a dream, always ending up happy and loved. And when she watches them, she feels more like the little girl who sat on the carpet right in front of the screen and less like the broken woman with no home of her own and no one to take care of her.

After The Little Mermaid, she puts in Beauty and the Beast. It’s not her favorite, but damn if it’s not a beautiful one to watch. Clarke gets to the scene where Belle begs to take her father’s place when she hears Bellamy’s footsteps approaching the couch. She didn’t even hear the door open.

“Hey,” Bellamy whispers. Clarke sits upright and pushes her hair back behind her ears. He’s still wearing his work clothes, nice pants and a button down. He’s giving her a peculiar look, like he knows something is wrong. But how could he know? He doesn’t know anything about her mom, nor has she said anything today to make him suspect something is off. “Mind if I join you?”

Clarke slides over, and Bellamy plops down right next to her. She settles her head against his chest, and the steady beating of his heart only adds to the calming effect. His fingers lazy rub circles into her back, the way he sometimes does when he thinks she’s asleep.

She sits up a little straighter as they get to the end of the movie. There’s this photo of her as a kid where she’s just a breath away from the screen when Belle confesses that she loves him, and Clarke imagines she looks about the same now. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s rewound this scene and played it over, something flips in her chest every time and leaves her feeling lighter.

When the scene is over, Clarke falls back against Bellamy’s chest, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. That same little something flips in her chest then too.

“So, which one is next?” he asks as soon as the credits come on.

“Tangled.”

Bellamy slips out from behind her and goes to switch out the DVD’s. When he comes back, he pulls Clarke back against his chest and begins threading his fingers through her hair.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” she tells him, though she might cry if he leaves. Clarke thought she wanted to be all alone, but just feeling his chest rise and fall makes her feel better than any of these movies ever could.

“No, I want to. Haven’t seen Tangled in years,” he says as he fast forwards through the commercials. “And I spent all day counting down the hours until I could come home to be with my own little princess.”

Clarke buries her face into his neck and sucks in a shallow breath. _His own little princess_. Her mind is too tired to try and make sense of why that string of words flood her chest with warmth and has her fisting his shirt to steady herself. She wants him to say it again, though. Over and over.

But the movie starts, and she gets a quick kiss instead. Clarke melts back into him and tries to let the calm take over again.


	6. Chapter 6

“Mr. Blake?”

He can’t get used to being called that. He’s always been just Bellamy. But now, he spends most of his day being called Mr. Blake. In the office, over conference calls, and even with the doorman who he has told dozens of times to just call him Bellamy. It’s just one of the many ways Bellamy can’t adjust to having money now. There’s this formality that comes with how people address him, and it just makes him feel like he’s someone he’s not.

Or maybe he just wants to be who he was before his company took off. That Bellamy might not have had much, but he did have a family who loved and needed him.

“Yes?” he sighs, fighting the urge to correct him. It’s not the man’s fault. It’s his job to greet the residents like that.

“Miss Griffin looked upset when she came home earlier,” the doorman tells him.

“Upset how?”

“Like she might have been crying before she came home.”

His stomach drops, and he barely remembers to tell him thank you in his haste to get to the elevator. The ride to the top is a long one, with numerous stops along the way. It gives him far too many minutes to think about what could have upset Clarke.

The truth is that Bellamy can’t even guess at what might be wrong. He doesn’t actually know that much about her life outside of the little he gleaned from her background check and the tiny details she gives him. She has a friend named Raven, and she’s the only friend Clarke ever mentions. She once had a boyfriend who was also dating that same friend, but that was years ago. Her father is dead. Bellamy knows nothing about her mother except that she is a doctor and seems to be absent in Clarke’s life. And that’s really it. One month together and he barely knows her.

He wants to know more about her, obviously. But he also doesn’t really have a right to pry. Her existence in Bellamy’s life is because of a contract, and nowhere in that contract did she agree to open up to him about her life outside of him. And vice versa. It’s not like he’s told Clarke about the falling out he had with his sister and how the only way he’s been able to help Octavia out in recent years was that time Lincoln let him cover Ethan’s ER bill behind her back because they were desperate.

His apartment is terrifyingly silent. He drops his things in his room, sees that the bed is unmade, and realizes that she’s been in here. Bellamy checks her room next, and her bookbag is on the ground, and the cute romper she wore to school today has been thrown onto the bed.

Bellamy has no plan for what to do when he does find her. Clarke has been so happy for the past month, so he doesn’t have a clue about how she likes to be comforted. Or if she even wants to be comforted. He tiptoes through the rest of the apartment, not sure where she might have decided to hide out. If Clarke isn’t at the kitchen island working on her homework when he comes home, then she is either drawing in her room or already in Bellamy’s bed.

He finds her curled up on the couch in the media room with Beauty and the Beast on. She doesn’t look like she’s crying, at least from behind. Clarke looks entranced. Completely lost in the movie.

“Hey,” he whispers, trying not to disturb her too much. When she turns her head, there’s a sort of blank, tired expression in her eyes. He sees exactly what the doorman meant when he said it looked like she had been crying. Clarke definitely cried today. Bellamy itches to join her on the couch and pull her into his chest, but she might not want him here. He hates not knowing what to do. If this were his ex or Octavia or one of his friends, he would know exactly what to do. But Clarke, despite spending every night with her, is still a mystery to him. “Mind if I join you?”

She slides over and pats the spot beside her, and Bellamy lets out a relieved exhale. Without even prompting her to, Clarke settles herself against his chest and gets comfortable.

He watches her, not the movie. There’s something different about how she looks right now. So… little. It just tugs at his chest, making him hold her a little tighter and give more kisses to the top of her hair.

Other princess movies are scattered across the coffee table, so this must be the tail end of a princess movie marathon. The sweet image of his baby all curled up on the couch watching these movies makes him smile. His little princess.

And just when he thinks she can’t fill his chest with anymore warmth, Clarke straightens up to watch the scene where Belle confesses that she loves the Beast. Her baby blues go wide, and the smallest of smiles tugs at her lips right as Belle and the Beast kiss. Just as quickly, she melts back into Bellamy, cheeks pink and trying to hide her smile, and he swears she’s never looked so precious. He can’t help but kiss her.

The movie comes to an end too soon. Soon, Clarke will snap out of this happy little fog and have to deal with whatever it is that made her cry. Selfishly, he asks which one is next, hoping to prolong this moment as long as he can.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” she tells him after he starts Tangled. He would worry this is her way of asking to be alone if she hadn’t been curled into his chest and humming happily as he ran his fingers through her hair.

“No, I want to. Haven’t seen Tangled in years,” he replies, and she wiggles a little closer. “And I spent all day counting down the hours until I could come home to be with my own little princess.”

Bellamy doesn’t really mean anything by it. It’s not that different than calling her his baby, which he says as much casually as he does when they’re fucking. But Clarke, who has barely reacted to anything except what’s on screen tonight, buries her face into his neck and fists his shirt. He can feel her sharp intake of breath against his throat.

This is going to be a thing for her, and though he tries to act steady and cool, he knows by her reaction that it will be a thing for him too. _Princess_ clicks in the same way _daddy_ does. _Baby_ is a catch all, a word he used with Echo and more one-night stands than he can count. But _princess_… that is just for Clarke. With her golden hair and bright blue eyes, the name suits her. And he should have known by the way her eyes light up while watching these movies that she has always wanted to be someone’s little princess.

She pulls herself closer and swings her legs over his lap. His hand slides over her smooth legs, trying to calm the buzzing under his skin. But he can’t calm down. They have a new word and he’s dying to explore it.

Bellamy fixes his gaze on the screen to distract himself. This isn’t the time for that. Something horrible happened today, something that made Clarke cry. He needs to just be here for her. So, he puts all his attention into that and the movie.

Clarke doesn’t make it easy, though. She won’t sit still. During the last movie, she barely moved. But now, she keeps readjusting herself against him and wiggling her legs on his lap. He steals a glance at her, and she’s biting down on her bottom lip.

She wants something. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches her legs subtly squirm in his lap.

“Baby,” he whispers, and she freezes like she’s been caught. “You need some help?”

She tilts her head up to look at him, her eyes apologetic like she’s interrupting something important when really, he’s here only for her however she might need him. Bellamy leans forward and kisses her slowly for good measure, and her expression relaxes.

“Want Daddy to help?” Only the light from the TV illuminates her face, so he barely makes out her weak nod. Bellamy pulls Clarke into his lap, and she laughs a little at the awkwardness of it. “Don’t want you to miss any of your movie,” he tells her. “Is this one your favorite?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. His hand pushes past the band of her pink little sleep shorts. He’s never seen her in them before. Clarke normally wears his clothes to bed, if any. But he likes them a lot. They’re cute. “But sometimes it’s The Princess and the Frog.”

“Should we watch that one too?”

“Mhmm.” Her head falls back onto his shoulder right as his middle finger glides against her clit. A noise escapes her. A little gasp. Bellamy kisses her cheek.

“That’s better, huh?” He keeps his movements slow, just lightly rubbing her as Rapunzel lets Flynn out of the armoire. Clarke is more focused on the movie than his touch right now, but as soon as the scene ends, she squirms against his hand until he slips a finger into her.

She has favorite parts of the movie. Clarke doesn’t say that, but he can tell by the way she goes still and doesn’t acknowledge Bellamy fucking her with her fingers. Then, the scene ends, and Clarke whines for another finger.

Just as perfectly as _princess_ clicked into place, something else about this clicks. Bellamy has loved having Clarke here, a little too much. She’s a sweet girl. Beautiful. The sex is fantastic, and waking up to her in his bed every morning is even better. And the way she calls him _daddy_ has felt right in a way that has never come close from someone else’s lips.

But this right here is the answer to a question he was always too scared to ask. Bellamy has always been curious about this part of the dynamic, and he’s never had a partner to explore it with. Frankly, he’s never had anyone he felt comfortable trying it with. The few women he’s tried being _daddy_ with think it’s hot, but they haven’t wanted to feel little. The pastel world where Bellamy takes over for a while just wasn’t something any of them wanted for themselves. They’d go along with it for him, but that’s not what he wants. He wants someone who genuinely wants to feel little. 

And Clarke seems to find peace in letting herself be little. It’s how she chose to comfort herself when she came home upset. The movie marathon had nothing to do with Bellamy. It’s not a show because she thinks it’s what he wants her to do. It’s where she went when the world got to be too much. She wanted to feel little.

His chest practically burns with warmth at this realization. He may not know a lot about Clarke’s life, and she may never share more with him. But he can give her this. Bellamy can help her feel little whenever she wants.

He’s kissing her now. Mostly quick kisses to her cheek or neck, but occasionally she turns from the movie to kiss him on the mouth. His cock strains against his pants, not helped by how she’s shifting against him to meet his fingers. He talks to her. Not so loud to disturb the movie, of course. But he tells her how good she’s being and how pretty she is.

Suddenly, she pulls off his lap. For a second, he’s terrified he did something wrong. But then, her hands are tugging at his belt. This is normally where he tells her that good girls ask for what they want or pries her hands away until she uses her words. Clarke has been so perfectly good that he has been aching for the right opportunity to discipline her. But there’s this surge of affection he has for her, one that far exceeds the grateful fondness he’s been feeling just because he’s less lonely with her. Wanting an excuse to spank her seems to trivial compared to this warm connection he’s never felt before.

It’s a terrifying feeling. Clarke could ask him for anything right now, and he’d give it to her. Who cares that she’s getting his cock out without asking permission? She’s his princess and she can take whatever she wants from him. He _wants_ her to take whatever she wants from him.

Bellamy moves them so they’re facing the wall adjacent to the TV. This way, Clarke can still turn her head and watch the movie. She doesn’t take off her sleep shorts, just shoves them to the side as she lowers herself onto him.

Her eyes meet his, nervous and worried. Clarke normally isn’t on top, and even when she is, Bellamy guides her. His hands slide over her shorts, and slowly, he pulls her down onto his cock. Her tight cunt is too much. Hot and wet and exactly what he needs after a long day of listening to horrible product name pitches.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs against her cheek. She takes all of him this time and whimpers as soon as he is all the way inside her. “You’re doing so good.”

She kisses him. It’s a sweet kiss, not the dirty kind she gives him when she’s tired of talking after dinner and wants him to take her to bed. It’s more like the welcome home kisses she gives him. Just little pecks between breaths, and he loves them.

He loses her attention to the movie, just as he thought he might. To be fair, it’s the scene with all the floating lanterns. Of course, this is one of her favorites. Any little princess would melt at the sight of how in love Rapunzel and Flynn are.

And Clarke melts. Her cheek falls to his shoulder to prop her head up as she watches. She makes no move to keep fucking Bellamy, though he fucks up into her gently during the song and rubs her back. And she fists his shirt, as if holding onto him while she loses herself in it. Her wide eyes don’t leave the screen, and his eyes don’t leave her. Right as the scene ends, she lets out a winded exhale. Like she held her breath for it.

Clarke turns back to him with a shy smile still on her lips. Maybe even a blush.

“There’s my princess,” he whispers. Her blush deepens into a beautiful red, and her cunt flutters around him. Bellamy kisses her as gently as he can manage, but there’s an urgency in Clarke’s kiss that makes being gentle impossible.

Her fingers get tangled in his hair and grip tight as her lips bruise into his. The gentle fucking from before is gone. That nickname is like flipping a light switch, transforming a slow fuck into something hungry. His hands still guide her by the ass up and down his cock, but he’s fucking up into her in earnest now. The slapping of wet skin makes it near impossible to hear the quiet dialogue on screen, but if Clarke doesn’t care then neither does he.

Clarke moans into his mouth, all low and wanting. Her hungry hands slide all through his hair, down his neck, over his cheeks… like she can’t touch him enough. Her mussed hair gets stuck to her face and his, sometimes curtaining him off so he sees nothing but the television light shining through her golden tresses.

“Daddy,” she whimpers, but she might as well have screamed it by how that word jolts his entire body into focus. “I’m gonna…”

“That’s it, princess,” he coos. “Are you going to come for Daddy?” She doesn’t answer. Her breathing is too heavy for her to get a word out. But he feels her pulsing around him, squeezing his cock in a way that pulls at something warm in his lower abdomen.

She buries her face into his neck as she comes. Each breath and whimper feels like heaven against his flushed skin. He follows not long after, quietly shuddering inside her and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to her cheek.

Clarke pulls off him just enough so that he slips out of her, but then she settles back in his lap in a similar position. Legs bracketing his, her cheek pressed against his chest so she can keep watching the movie. His cheek rests on top of her hair, and he shuts his eyes. Her breathing is steady, easy to feel and listen to as he comes back down. It’s soothing in a way that very few things are.

She clutches his shirt tight at the “You were my new dream” part, and a smile tugs at his lips. His hands rub up and down her back, and he wonders if she’ll fall asleep like this. He probably could.

The movie ends, and both of them seem hesitant to separate. He lets the credits roll on longer than he should, selfishly making this moment last longer. Eventually, he asks, “Next one?”

“I should probably go eat something,” she sighs. Bellamy checks the time on his phone. It’s past nine, and Clarke hasn’t even had dinner yet.

She finally pulls off him and goes to take the Tangled DVD out of the player. Bellamy tucks himself back into his pants.

“I’ll make you something,” he offers. “What sounds good?”

In the light, he can finally see her. Her eyeliner is smeared from tears, and she just looks so tired. Clarke really did cry today, and he still doesn’t have the faintest idea of why.

“Grilled cheese?” she asks hesitantly, as if he would ever say no to her.

“Okay.” He loops his arm around her waist and starts pulling her toward the kitchen.

Clarke hops up on the counter, letting her bare feet and legs dangle over the edge while Bellamy gets the bread out of the pantry. The silence between them is too loud. And in that silence, the questions he has about what could have possibly hurt this sweet girl grow far too strong.

While he waits for the stovetop to heat, Bellamy thinks over the contract. There isn’t anything in it explicitly saying he can’t prod her about her life. It’s more of a boundary he put up for himself, but why? So that he doesn’t get too attached to a girl who is here because of the money? Too late. He’s already too attached. Just last week, he walked by one of the unused guest bedrooms, one that he thought Ethan could stay in if Octavia ever brought him to visit, which she never will. And he remembers thinking that the light is so good in this room and Clarke would probably love to have a little studio in here. A room that is all hers to paint and draw in.

He’s attached, so what further harm could asking about her life be? Worst case, she doesn’t want to open up, and so she shuts it down.

“You know that you can talk to me, right? Like if something’s bothering you,” he tells her.

“I’m that obvious, huh?” she mutters, dropping her head and shaking it. Bellamy crosses over to her, puts his hands on her thighs, and kisses her forehead. “You don’t want to hear about this. It’s just… it’s a mess, and I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

“I want to know. I mean, if you want to tell me, I want to know.” She doesn’t have anything to say to that, and Bellamy gets back to work making them both a grilled cheese. The silence is still deafening, but it feels better now that it’s Clarke’s choice. Her face lights up when he hands Clarke her plate, and she lets out a happy moan when she takes the first bite. Bellamy does make a damn good grilled cheese. That’s not arrogant of him to admit. It’s just a fact.

Clarke eats half her sandwich, and then sets it back on her plate. She narrows her eyes at Bellamy, as if looking for something. She glances back at her plate and says, “My mom is an addict.”

Of course, she tells him this mid bite, so he has to awkwardly chew as fast as he can so he can react to this statement. But before he gets the chance, she keeps talking. “I, uh, figured it out when I was seventeen. Thought I was real smart about it, too. I read all about it and was convinced I could handle her on my own. So, when I confronted her, she broke down crying and told me that I was right and that she needs help. Mom promised she would quit because I was the most important thing in her life and she couldn’t fathom hurting me like that anymore.”

Bellamy discards his sandwich on the counter and crosses back over to Clarke. His hands settle on her legs, and her gaze falls to his chest.

“Two months later, a patient dies on her operating table during a pretty low risk procedure. The investigation found her to be at fault, and she was high as a kite during the surgery.”

That’s how Clarke ended up all on her own. The legal battle alone could have bankrupted them.

“Where is she now?”

“Mt. Weather Rehabilitation Clinic. Well, she was. Her boyfriend called me earlier and said he pulled some strings to get her released sooner. I give it a month before she has to be sent back,” she mutters with a small shake of her head. “He doesn’t know, Bellamy.”

The sound of his name startles him. He hasn’t heard her call him that since before the contract was signed.

“He thinks if he loves her enough, she’ll change. I mean, I hope he’s right, but he’s not. Or maybe he is, and it’s just that I wasn’t enough reason for her to want to get better.”

Clarke takes a bite out of her grilled cheese and shrugs as if what she just said were some minor annoyance. Like when she buys a new shirt and finds out after she’s already ripped the tag off that it’s see-through in certain lighting. But he knows this isn’t some minor inconvenience. It’s a wound that might never heal. A perpetual fear that she isn’t enough branded into her by her mother.

“Clarke,” he whispers, and she takes another bite.

“I’m fine, though,” she tells him, cheek full of grilled cheese. Her eyes flicker over to the corner, as if avoiding his gaze.

“Hey,” he whispers as he slides his hand up to her waist and lets his fingers strum against her sides.

She meets his gaze, her eyes stoic and cold. A far cry from the girl who clung to him just minutes ago. It’s a pretty damn convincing look. If he didn’t know her, it might be enough for him to let it go. But Bellamy does know her.

He knows now that Clarke has been more or less on her own since she was seventeen. He imagines a girl like Clarke with wealthy parents probably had her sights set on a nice out of state university, an art degree and rich frat boy turned fiancée then husband, and a cushy life out in the suburbs with babies and golden retrievers before the rug got ripped out from under her. With the legal expenses, settlements, and treatments for her mother, there was hardly anything left for her. No chance in hell of getting the picture-perfect life her parents set her up for.

When he met her, she was working three jobs, going to school, and living in a tiny apartment on one of the worst streets in town. How she managed that without completely breaking down is beyond him. At least Bellamy had a family for emotional support and had Pike helping him out financially.

“I’m fine,” she repeats, but this time, her voice breaks. Bellamy barely gets both of his arms around her before she starts crying.

Her sobs sound like glass breaking. Sudden and loud, sending him into a panicked state. Maybe her crying isn’t even that loud. But it feels like it is. A scream would be less painful to hear.

He rocks her slightly. Runs his fingers through her hair because she likes how it feels. Kisses her hair every now and then to remind her that he’s there. But he doesn’t say anything. There isn’t anything to say. He doesn’t know if it will be alright, and he has no power to fix this. If there was a way to make it all disappear, he would do anything to make that happen. But there isn’t. Even if Dr. Griffin finally turned her life around and got better, that wouldn’t be enough to undo the damage that has already been done.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles into his shirt. “I never cry. Not over this.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he promises. But he can’t help but wonder why she’s crying now if she never does. Surely, Clarke has had to deal with far worse than her mother’s boyfriend pulling her out of rehab too early. And with how overworked and exhausted Clarke had to have been in the last few years, he would think her breaking point would have been then, not now.

Maybe she broke not because of today’s incident but instead because she can afford to break now. It takes twice as long to put yourself back together than it does to fall apart, and Clarke couldn’t afford to fall apart before. Not with debt piling up, multiple jobs, school, a terrifying apartment that she knew could be broken into at any point, and being all alone. Letting herself break down was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

But now? She’s safe. Taken care of. She can cry here, and she knows she’ll be comforted by him. She knows someone will take care of her, which is something she hasn’t had in years.

Her tears slow, and his heart nearly shatters when he finally sees her tearful face. Pink skin. Bloodshot eyes. A slight wobble in her bottom lip.

“You want to go to bed?” he asks. She shakes her head and reaches for last few bites of the grilled cheese. He laughs when she takes a bite and groans in pleasure.

“What? It’s really good,” she says.

“I’ll make one for you whenever you want,” he promises, and Clarke beams at him. Bellamy wipes away the last of her tears.

“Whenever I want?”

“That’s what I said.”

“What about at two in the morning?”

“If I’m awake, then yes. If you’re waking me up demanding a grilled cheese, probably not,” he laughs.

“If I’m waking you up for a grilled cheese, that means I really want it though,” she pouts. Bellamy rolls his eyes and steals a quick kiss. Then, he grabs his abandoned sandwich, now lukewarm from sitting there so long, and finishes it while Clarke licks her fingers clean.

They make their way back to his room. Clarke heads into the bathroom and cleans the makeup off her face. All her products, makeup wipes, makeup, toothbrush, toothpaste, etc., live in his bathroom. He’s surprised her closet hasn’t merged with his by now since she is rarely in her own room. He joins her in there to brush his teeth. Their arms hit each other while brushing, an all too common occurrence since she brushes with her left hand and he brushes with his right. The smarter solution would be to switch which side of the counter the two of them use, but neither of them suggest it.

Clarke curls up in his bed and waits for him to join her. While he’s washing his face, she calls out, “You said we could watch Princess and the Frog!”

His eyes ache with exhaustion. All he wants is to curl himself around her and drift off to sleep. But he finds himself feeling around the dark media room, too stubborn to just turn on a damn light, for the DVD. Clarke looks sleepy too when he returns to his room, but she does smile when he flashes the movie in her direction.

Clarke turns onto her side and gestures for him to put his laptop right on the mattress in front of her. He gets the movie going and then settles himself against her back. His arm slings over her waist, one of his legs slips between hers. She hums happily when he kisses her behind the ear.

She is out cold not ten minutes later. He should probably turn it off, but he doesn’t want to wake her by moving. So, he lets it play on, and shuts his tired eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swainlake made a kickass [ moodboard for Sugar](https://swainlake.tumblr.com/post/188950702934/sugar-by-asroarke-why-are-you-interested-in-one) and I am obsessed! Go check it out, guys!

Clarke hasn’t been fucked in days.

Considering how many years of her life she’s gone without being fucked, it shouldn’t bother her to go a few days without sex. But ever since she moved in with Bellamy, they’ve fucked almost every single day. Even when she was on her period. The only time they went two days without sex was when Clarke went to visit her mom at Marcus’ house for the weekend. But it’s Friday and they haven’t fucked since Monday morning before Bellamy left for work.

To be fair, it’s been a crazy week for him at work. She doesn’t fully understand what the problem is since tech speak is not her specialty, but either Jasper or Monty, neither of whom she’s met but feels like she knows because of how much Bellamy talks about them, missed some glitch in the software they’re going to showcase next week, and now they’re all working insane hours trying to get it resolved. Some nights, Clarke is fast asleep when he finally stumbles in. And he’s gone before she wakes up.

Last night, they had dinner together. Clarke took a nap when she got home so she could stay up late and wait for him. She made dinner for him and beamed when he told her how good it was. But that was about it for him. His eyes drooped the whole meal, and she barely got a kiss on the cheek before he crawled into bed.

He warned her about this when she signed the contract. This right here is why he says dating is too difficult for his lifestyle. His job is stressful, and he puts in a lot of long hours. But Clarke has been kind of spoiled with the kind of attention he has been able to give her so far, especially ever since she opened up to him about her mom. She forgot all about his warnings that he might disappear for weeks at a time in a fog of work.

But it’s Friday, which means he doesn’t work tomorrow. And he texted her earlier to say he would be home at a normal time tonight. So, Clarke is finally going to be fucked.

She only has a morning class on Fridays, so she skips her usual studying at the library and heads straight home. Clarke doesn’t purposely set out to get all dressed up for him, but somehow, she ends up doing just that. Shaves everything, curls her hair, takes her time with her makeup. She settles on a casual dress, trying not to look like she’s trying too hard, of course. It’s one of those dresses that is cut so it cinches at her waist, making it look nice and small.

Because it’s kind of cold in the apartment, she throws on these thigh high stockings with lace at the top. She’s never owned anything like them before, and to be honest, she’s been itching to wear them ever since she brought them home. She wasn’t sure about them when she bought them, but since she has the cash to spare now, figured why not. It wasn’t until she brought them home and showed Bellamy everything she bought and he told her how pretty they were that Clarke felt the itch to put them on.

As she sits on the couch waiting for him to walk in the door, her fingers run up and down the stockings, imagining how his hands would feel on them. Would he peel them off gently or tear them off in his impatience to fuck her? It’s been days since he really touched her, and he must feel the ache as strongly as she does. But he’s good at being patient. A little too good.

The door swings open, and Clarke skips to the door to meet him. His curly hair is all mussed from running his hands through it all day, and he looks just exhausted. But his eyes light up when Clarke throws her arms around his neck and gives him a kiss.

“You look nice,” he tells her, pulling back to look over her whole outfit. A wide smile forms on her lips and she presses another kiss to his cheek. God, he smells good. It’s funny how she can smell him in his pillow and sheets, but she doesn’t quite melt at the scent until it’s coming from the man himself.

“Thanks.” He lets go of her, and instead of going into his room to change and get settled for the night, he grabs his laptop off the counter and starts walking toward his office. “Do you still have more work to do?” she asks.

Bellamy leans against the doorway and sighs. “Yes. I’m almost done, I think. But who fucking knows?” He throws his spare hand up in frustration and disappears into his office.

Clarke just stands there for a few seconds, blinking rapidly at the closed door. It never occurred to her that he would still have work to do when he came home. She feels silly for how upset it makes her. She’s a grown woman, after all. It’s Bellamy’s job, and she knew it was a high-pressure job when they started this whole arrangement.

She shakes it off as she tiptoes back into her room. It’s not a big deal. He’ll shower her with attention again whenever this glitch is dealt with. And she’s not going to be one of those whiny girls that throws a fit because the guy she’s seeing can’t drop everything to spend time with her. Bellamy’s not even her boyfriend. He pays her an allowance to give him all the benefits of having a girlfriend without any of the drawbacks, like say, dealing with her hurt feelings when he’s paying more attention to work than to her.

Clarke kicks off her shoes and falls back on her bed. Lying down in here feels a lot like lying on a hotel bed. It’s so unfamiliar after all these nights spent in his bed. It doesn’t even smell like Clarke. Nothing in here does.

Her eyes settle on the ceiling light that she didn’t bother to turn on, and she’s at a loss for what to do now. She spent pretty much her whole day getting all dolled up and fantasizing about getting fucked, and now she’s all dressed up and horny and can’t do a thing about it.

Well, she could do something about it. Clarke hasn’t masturbated since moving in. Hasn’t really been a thing she needed to do when she could always just wake up Bellamy and ask him to finger her. And she hasn’t even wanted to. Nothing she can do with her hands will feel as good as what he could do. It was easier to masturbate when she didn’t know how good sex felt.

There was one time she tried to touch herself, though. Bellamy was teasing her, waiting for her to ask to get fucked instead of just fucking her. And she felt a little sassy, so instead of asking like he wanted her to, Clarke decided she would just touch herself. Bellamy’s hand had a hold of her wrist before she even touched her clit, stopping her. Told her that only bad girls touch themselves without permission and that if she does it again, he’ll have to punish her.

That’s why Clarke is hesitant to touch herself now, but it’s ridiculous. Bellamy has never “punished” her. He’s never bent of her over his knee and spanked her like he keeps threatening to. Any time she gets out of line, all she has to do is bat her eyelashes and say, “I’m so sorry, Daddy” and he melts. Coos over her and usually gives her exactly what she wants. There is no way he would spank her for touching herself, especially not when he won’t even find out about it. He’s on the other side of the apartment staring into a computer screen and arguing with Jasper and Monty over speakerphone.

So, she slides up the dress she wore just for him and starts to rub over the lacy panties she also wore just for him. Clarke’s eyes fall shut and she tries to imitate how he touches her. All slow and teasing, just taking his time as Clarke writhes against his hand.

But it doesn’t have the same effect when she does it. She’s too impatient and gives too much pressure too soon. It feels good on a purely clinical level, but she doesn’t feel all those other overwhelming things she feels when he does it.

Frustrated, Clarke pushes her panties to the side and slips a finger in. It’s better like this, though she feels like she’s moving too fast for it to be a good orgasm. It’ll be one of those shallow ones, she knows. She’s disappointed, but an okay orgasm is better than going another night without one.

She is right on the edge of finally getting somewhere when her lights suddenly flip on and she sees Bellamy standing in her doorway with his arms crossed. Clarke scrambles upright, pulling her dress down in a fruitless attempt at modesty.

He doesn’t look mad exactly. There’s a stern expression in his eyes, but she can see a smile fighting its way onto his lips. Plus, there’s the growing bulge in his pants that proves he isn’t that mad.

“What did I say would happen if you touched yourself without permission?” he asks, all calm as he paces into her room.

“I don’t know,” she says. Bellamy raises an eyebrow, and she meets his gaze with a slight pout in her lip.

He sits on the edge of her bed and pats his leg. “Come here,” he whispers. Is he serious? He’s not actually going to spank her.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Clarke tells him. “I won’t do it again.”

“Come here,” he repeats, and a shiver washes through her. Bellamy is actually going to spank her. Panic and excitement jolt through her at once, and she can’t decide if she wants to squirm away or do as he says. “Now.”

The gravelly voice jerks her into motion, and before she can comprehend what she’s doing, she’s lying face down across his lap bracing for the first slap to her ass. She’s never been spanked before. Not as a child and certainly not as an adult who pays taxes and votes.

His hand slides up the backs of her thighs, and she’s expecting to be spanked, so she flinches. But all he does his move his hand to push her dress up so her ass is exposed.

“Baby, did you get all dressed up for me?” he whispers, his voice so soft compared to the harshness of him telling her to come here. His fingers trail over the lace of her stockings, more gentle than she imagined.

“Yeah. I missed you this week.” She lets her voice sound a little pitiful in an attempt to trigger pushover Bellamy.

His fingers slide between her legs, tracing the damp part of her panties the way she was trying to imitate earlier. She whimpers in relief to finally feel his hand on her. God, she’s missed this.

“I missed you too,” he concedes as his finger makes a small circle. “And then I come home to see that you got all dressed up for me in your pretty dress and stockings. I felt so bad I had to work that I decided to take a break so I could take care of my little princess.”

That word. She doesn’t understand it, but that word makes everything inside her turn to mush while arousal soaks her panties. It’s too much. Too good.

Right as she squirms against his hand, he removes it. Clarke lets out a whine.

“But then I find out you couldn’t even wait for me.” His hand comes down in a sharp slap against her cheek. The sensation stuns her whole body. Tears prickle in her eyes even though it didn’t really hurt that bad. “Count.”

“One,” she whimpers, and this time when she feels his hand, it’s not in a hard hit but instead a soft slide against the cheek he just hit.

“Good,” he hums. “Now, why were you touching yourself, sweetheart?”

“Because… because….” Her thoughts are all scrambled, and she can’t think of a mature way to explain it. Everything she thinks off sounds bratty and childish.

Another slap, and Clarke jerks in his lap. His other hand settles on her back, holding her in place.

“Two.”

“Tell me why.”

“I wanted you, but you were too busy!”

There’s a break in her voice that is unmistakable. As much as she has tried to put on a brave face this week, she can’t deny that him being so distant hurt.

Though she never meant to, Clarke has started to cling to Bellamy like a lifeline. It was easy enough to separate her real life from her life here with Bellamy before the day Marcus checked her mom out of rehab. But after that night, it’s all been blurred. She tells him everything now, even things she’s never mustered the courage to say to Raven. Clarke goes to him when she cries, and he always rocks her in his arms until she feels better. And since that night, Bellamy has doted on her a little more too. More kisses that don’t lead anywhere, late night conversations that are mostly nonsense but keep going on because neither of them want to stop. This thing between them started to feel real.

And then, work gets hard and Bellamy forgets all about her. She can’t even be mad about it because it’s all in the contract she signed. But she is mad. Not at him, but herself. Because this thing between them is not real, and she never should have let herself forget that.

She braces for the third slap, but it doesn’t come. Silence hangs between them, and she knows what she said isn’t fair. It’s manipulative and bratty and designed to make him apologize to her even though it’s Clarke that forgot how this arrangement works.

“I’m never too busy for you.” Clarke fixes her gaze on the plush white carpet just inches from her face. Her bottom lip is quivering, and the tears are in position to fall. “It’s been a rough week, I know. I have a little more work to do, but then the whole weekend is yours. We can do whatever you want, baby.”

“Yeah?” she whispers.

“Yeah.” A tear finally falls, more in relief than anything. “I don’t like when work keeps me away from you, but it’s important that I do it. Without this job, I wouldn’t be able to take care of my little princess the way she deserves. And you want Daddy to take care of you and buy you presents, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“I think you deserve a present after this long week, huh?” Clarke nods. “But you’re only going to get it if you keep being good for me. That means taking your punishment when you’ve broken a rule,” Bellamy tells her. “Because it’s your first time, I’ll only do five. Can you handle three more?”

Clarke uses her palms to push the tears off her cheek and nods. Bellamy kisses the top of her head, and the sensation is such a relief that she almost starts crying again.

His hand comes down hard, her skin no longer used to the stinging after the long break.

“Three.”

He rubs his hand over her skin, soothing it before the next strike. She squirms a little in his lap, unsure if she’s horny because she hasn’t been fucked in so long or because she likes having her ass spanked.

“Four.”

Clarke holds her breath waiting for the last one. When it happens, she exhales and murmurs, “Five.”

The fifth slap doesn’t really hurt, but she feels really sore as Bellamy helps her back up. He settles her so she’s sitting in his lap, one of his hands rubbing where the last blow landed. His other hand reaches up to wipe a stray tear from just below her eye.

“You did so good,” he whispers. His lips find her cheek, her chin, and finally her wobbling lips. Bellamy’s mouth is warm and soft, gentler than it has any right being. “How do you feel?”

“Okay. A little sore.” Her head falls to his shoulder, and she sucks in a deep breath. His hands slide up her back, and he rocks her like that while she breathes him in.

She feels lighter somehow, her mind blissfully blank for once. Her fingers draw zigzag lines into his crisp white shirt as her breathing evens out. Clarke is vaguely aware of his mouth resting just below her ear, letting his breath fan out against her skin between lazy kisses.

Maybe if Clarke had just a moment or two of this each day, she wouldn’t have been so impatient today. As much as she likes the sex, she likes this part more. The way he holds and kisses her feels far more intimate than his cock inside her does.

“Do you have to get back to work soon?” she mumbles.

“Not just yet.”

“You sure? You don’t have to stay just because I—”

“I’m not done taking care of you, baby,” he whispers right into her ear, and goosebumps form on her arms. His hand pushes her hair back behind her ear, and he kisses her again just below her ear. “Tell me what you need.”

Clarke squirms in his lap and hides her blushing face against his neck. He knows exactly what she needs. He’s probably known it since he walked in the door and saw her all dressed up for him. And if not then, definitely when he walked in on Clarke fingering herself. He knows, but he won’t give it to her until she asks.

“Will you… will you fuck me, Daddy?” she murmurs against his throat.

“Fuck,” he groans in that low voice that makes her stomach flip. “In here?”

“No, in our bed.” Clarke doesn’t ask him to carry her, but she doesn’t have to. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he takes the hint. He pulls her up with him when he stands, and Clarke’s legs wrap around him as he makes his way out of her room. She presses kisses to his neck during the short walk, trying to tease him like he teases her.

Sometimes, he drops her on the bed, but tonight he gently lowers both of them onto the mattress. His mouth finds hers right as his weight settles on top of her. She keeps her legs wrapped around him, greedily keeping him as close as possible.

“This better?” he murmurs between kisses. “Better now that we’re in our bed?”

The _our_ floods her chest with warmth, and it takes her a second to realize that she’s the one who called it that first. It’s not their bed, it’s his. But she has come to think of it as hers considering she abandoned any pretext of sleeping in her own bed the first night she stayed here.

Bellamy saying it makes it feel real. Like this really is their bed in their room in their apartment. Part of a life they’re building together. It’s a fantasy. A dangerous one, but it’s the only one Clarke has let herself have in so long. It’s too beautiful to make herself let go of it.

“Yeah,” Clarke confesses, and his lips slam hard into hers. Her fingers fly to his hair as his tongue plunges into her mouth. Right when he finds her tongue, she makes him chase it. It drives him insane when she does that, so she does it every chance she gets. Bellamy grunts into her mouth in frustration, but she can feel by the way he grinds the bulge in his pants against her panties that he loves this little game. Her favorite part is when she lets him catch her and this low, pleased grunt escapes the back of his throat. It’s such a quiet noise, and most of the sounds Bellamy makes are far from quiet.

When his mouth pulls off hers, they’re both breathless. He stands up to undo his belt, and Clarke starts pushing down her stockings.

“No, not those,” he says. “Those are too pretty to take off.”

Clarke bites down on her lip as she slowly slides it back up past her knee. Though his hands don’t stop working at his belt, his dark gaze stays on her legs.

“You really like them?” she asks.

“Mhmm.” She beams. “Did you wear them just for me, baby?”

Clarke nods weakly as he tosses his belt onto the floor. Then, she pulls up her dress and spreads her legs. Bellamy stands frozen, watching her slowly run her fingers over the pink lacy panties. “I wore these for you too, Daddy. Are they pretty too?”

“Very pretty,” he growls.

Bellamy abandons his half unbuttoned pants and drops down to his knees in front of the bed. Clarke barely manages to suck in a breath before he leans forward and buries his face between her legs. Her head falls back as his nose glides against the fabric covering cunt. She whimpers when he kisses the damp fabric gently.

“What does this cunt need, sweetheart? My fingers, my mouth…?” His voice sounds so wrecked, and just the sound of it sends a shudder through her. “Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.” His fingers hook into the flimsy fabric and begin pulling the panties down. “What does my princess want?”

“Your cock. I haven’t had it all week, Daddy,” she whines. Bellamy turns his head, buries it into her thigh, curses, and gives her skin a gentle bite. “I need it.”

He stands up and yanks her panties all the way off. Her stockings fall a bit, but Clarke pulls them back up as Bellamy gets his cock out. His hands land on the lacy part of them when he climbs back over her, gripping that part of her thigh possessively.

His dark brown eyes lock with hers, and he whispers, “You need it?” She nods. “How bad?”

“So bad, Daddy,” she whimpers, and his pupils dilate. “So bad that I couldn’t help but touch myself.”

His mouth lands on hers before traveling across her cheek and down her throat. “My poor baby,” he keeps repeating while Clarke nods pitifully. He pushes her legs farther apart, and Clarke winces. For a moment, she forgot all about the spanking he gave her. “You okay?”

His eyes meet hers, no heat behind them. A genuine concern.

“Uh huh. Just sore.”

“Do we need to stop?”

Clarke shakes her head. “No,” she promises. “I’m sore but… I like it.” She can’t explain why, so she prays he doesn’t push her further.

He smiles. Not one of those lecherous grins that always come before he fucks her fast and deep. No, it’s a soft one. She can’t make sense of this either, but she likes it. She loves when he smiles at her like this. No one but Bellamy has ever looked at her this way.

It only lasts a second. Bellamy sits up to line himself up at her entrance. Clarke watches him in a blissed out daze, her smile goofy and nearly drunk.

In another life, she could probably love him. In that life, everything didn’t fall apart when she was seventeen. She’d meet him at some fundraiser or through a mutual friend or something like that. It’d be a bit of a scandal as far as her family would be concerned. Her mom would say he’s way too old for her. And maybe he is, but she thinks he could love her too despite that. It’d be one of those fairytale romances, one where they fall so fast and hard that if you blinked you would miss it.

It won’t ever happen, not in this life. But she’s happy that she gets this small piece of what it could have been. Bellamy giving her that soft smile, holding her when she cries, drowning her in kisses and compliments… that’s more than Clarke ever thought she would get in this life.

He pushes into her, and after days without being fucked, the stretch burns so good. Clarke whimpers and cries as his cock thrusts in and out of her, unable to be pacified until Bellamy lowers himself on top of her so she can hold onto him.

Despite the gentleness of his kisses to her face, the rest of it is rough. Quick and desperate. His cock slamming into her like he can’t hold back, and she’s grateful for it. Clarke can’t do slow and languid, not after wanting him for so fucking long.

“So tight,” he growls into her hair. Everything he says now that he’s inside her sounds so hungry. Her nails dig into his back every time he murmurs some filthy thing into her ear. “Been thinking about this tight little cunt all week.”

Her eyes fall shut as he pounds into her. It’s all too good and too much. His words, his body slick with sweat, the way her walls cling to his cock while he fucks her, and just him… it’s so much.

“That’s it, baby. Take it. Take what you need.” The tears are coming back, and she can’t understand why. She’s not upset. She’s really happy right now. Clarke turns her head, hoping to stop Bellamy from seeing, but his hand grips her face and turns her back to him. “Baby,” he coos, and her eyes flutter open. Tears stream down the sides of her cheeks, and she shakes her head to tell him that she’s really okay. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

Her bottom lip wobbles, and all she can manage is a weak nod. It is a lot. Tonight has been all over the place, and now he’s filling her up so good and she can’t get her thoughts straight anymore.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Daddy’s got you.” Her arms tighten around his neck and she buries her tearful face into his shirt. Her mascara will leave a stain, but he can afford dry cleaning. “Daddy’s got you,” he repeats.

She holds on tight as those words push her over. Arms wrapped around his neck, legs tight around his waist. Clarke cries and whimpers and screams while she pulses around him. Bellamy shudders inside her not long after, whispering all kinds of sweet things that she can’t make out. But the tone makes her feel all warm and safe, and that’s what matters.

Bellamy stays inside her for longer than usual, his face buried into her shoulder as his breathing evens out. Clarke is still crying, but it’s more pitiful sounding sniffles than the sobs now. When his head pops up, the first thing he does is wipe away her tears with his thumb.

“You okay?” he asks, and she nods.

“I was just overwhelmed I think.”

“In a good way?”

“Yeah,” she promises.

Bellamy slips out of her and falls onto his back beside her. Her dress will have to be washed now that it’s been doused in both of their sweat. Normally, Clarke doesn’t get fucked in her clothes. Bellamy is too eager to get his hands on her tits to keep them on long. But this was a little more desperate than normal. Bellamy didn’t even take off his pants.

“I think I like being spanked,” she admits, staring up at the ceiling fan. “Is that weird?”

“No. Do you think it’s weird that I kind of like how you cry?” A low laugh escapes the back of her throat and she shakes her head. “Really? Even I think that might be weird.”

“Maybe I’m just a pretty crier,” she teases, and Bellamy rolls onto his side to smack a kiss to her cheek. “We can be weird together, then.”

He falls back and lets out a sigh. She knows what is coming next.

“I do have to work tonight.” Bellamy leans over her to pull a small bottle of lotion out of his bedside table.

“I know.” He pulls her into his chest and tugs her dress up so her ass is exposed again. Her eyes fall shut as he rubs lotion into her sore skin.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“I know. It’s okay.” He doesn’t look like he believes her, but when he’s done with the lotion, he pushes himself out of bed anyway. Clarke sits up too and watches him zip his pants back up. “You’ll hurry back, right?”

A smile tugs at his lips, and he whispers, “I promise.”

After he leaves, Clarke takes a quick shower. When she steps back into their room, a glass of water and bottle of Advil sit on her nightstand. She takes them, throws on one of Bellamy’s t-shirts, and crawls into bed.

Her eyes start to fall shut just fifteen minutes later, but then, the bedroom door swings open. Clarke rubs at her eyes while she watches Bellamy cross into the room with his laptop in hand.

“What are you doing?” she mumbles.

“I wasn’t getting anything done because I kept wanting to check on you. Might as well just work in here,” he laughs, and Clarke buries her goofy grin into her pillow. Bellamy settles down on the bed beside her and pats his chest for her to come over. It’s not her normal position, but she settles against him while he logs back into his computer.

His lips find the top of her head, and Clarke closes her eyes. She falls asleep to the sound of him typing and the feeling of his steady heart beneath her ear.


	8. Chapter 8

Bellamy is obsessed.

It’s probably not healthy. He thinks about her too much during the day, often at the expense of his work. And when he comes home, he sticks to her like glue. Always touching her in some way, even in sleep.

He’s been like this before. Bellamy is kind of a clingy person, and he snaps out of it as soon as the object of his obsession tells him to knock it off. Echo shut it down fast. Gina, back in high school, thought it was cute for a little while but then politely told him she needs a little bit of space.

It’s different with Clarke. There’s a contract at play and a power dynamic that he’s all too aware is problematic. But unlike Echo and Gina and every woman in between, Clarke likes it. Smiles when he plays with her free hand while she studies. Giggles when his morning kisses get too excessive. Clings to him as much as he clings to her.

There’s no annoyance at his abundance of compliments or how he likes keeping his hand at her back whenever they’re both heading in the same direction. He babies her, hardly letting her lift a finger, which would no doubt start a fight between him and Echo, and Clarke just melts instead.

So, instead of snapping out of it, Bellamy is becoming more obsessed. And he loves it… up until he remembers that this isn’t real. But he doesn’t let himself think about that too much. Because when he does that, he starts stressing over how open-ended the contract is and how at any moment Clarke could decide she doesn’t need him anymore and just leave.

He doesn’t think about that this Saturday afternoon. Hard to when he’s spent his entire day in bed with Clarke. She woke up around ten. He woke up earlier and waited as patiently as he could before she became too tempting, and then he woke her with slow kisses down her chest which led to a slow, lazy fuck that made him question if getting out of bed each morning of the work week was even worth it. Bellamy made her breakfast around noon, which his princess insisted on eating in bed, and it wasn’t like he was going to say no when she asked so sweetly. They fucked again before taking a long nap.

Clarke is sleeping on her stomach with her head turned toward him. Her hair is an absolute mess no matter how many times he tries to brush it back. Despite that, she looks so serene all cuddled up in his blankets, not even bothering to put a shirt on before falling asleep this time.

Sometimes, Bellamy forgets how beautiful she is. When he sees her every single day, her beauty loses its dramatic impact. But sometimes, like this afternoon, he has enough time to study her and gets overwhelmed when it hits him. Those long eyelashes. The little mole above her lip. Her full pink lips, parted. The golden curls that fall into her face every time she shifts in her sleep.

Bellamy needs to go to the store. He decimated what remained of their groceries for breakfast, forgetting that the service who usually delivers his groceries wouldn’t be able to this week. He needs to go.

Or he could just lie here with Clarke a bit longer, order take out or something.

She wakes up a few minutes later, stretching out sleepily as her eyes lazily blink open.

“Did you nap too?” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.

“Mhmm. Haven’t been awake that long.” Clarke hums in response and slides closer to him. Her hair tickles his nose as she settles her head onto his chest. “I should probably get up and go to the store.” That earns a whine, which he expected. Still, he smiles goofily at Clarke not wanting him to leave. “Baby, we have nothing for dinner. And we do not want to be waiting around for takeout on a Saturday night.”

Her head pops up, and the pout is out in full force. One would think it would have less effect on him with how much he sees it, and yet he feels himself wanting to cave already even though this is one instance where he really shouldn’t. Bellamy put on enough weight last year when he had his knee injury. He really doesn’t need to fall into a takeout habit again.

“But Daddy, I want to try something.”

This is a new thing for them, something Clarke sprung on him two weeks ago with no warning at all and nearly made him come on the spot. She freely admits that prior to moving in here, she knew little to nothing about sex. Only the most clinical understanding derived from sex ed and what she’s pieced together from stories about Raven’s sex life. But now that she’s had sex… a lot of it… she’s gotten more curious. So, she’s been doing some research.

Cut to two weeks ago when she very sweetly asked him to fuck her tits. It’s not the request itself that killed him. That theoretical fantasy just turned out okay when he tried it on Gina in the back of his broken-down truck, and he’s never been very interested in trying it again. But it’s the fact that Clarke wants to try something new. Trusts him enough to try something new with him. Wants him to teach her things and wants to experience things with him that she’s never done before.

“Oh really?” he asks, taking a forced cool tone. But he’s not fooling her, and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes that says she knows just asking to try something is enough to get his cock to stir.

“Mhmm.” Bellamy raises an eyebrow, waiting for her request. “I was thinking. You do a lot of stuff for me. So, I want to do something for you.”

He can’t stop himself from smiling. Bellamy’s overwhelmed by how sweet this is and by the endless possibilities of what she could be thinking of.

Her fingers trail up and down his neck as he looks up at her. She makes no effort to cover her tits with the sheet. Clarke just leans over him, patiently waiting for him to say yes.

“You have to tell me what it is first, princess.”

“I—” A blush creeps onto her cheeks, and she ducks her head. He loves the shyness that takes over her whenever she asks for something. “I want to suck your cock.”

It takes every ounce of self-control in him not to moan as soon as he hears that. It’s such a simple sentence that sounds so filthy slipping off her pink lips. This is something Bellamy never would have asked her to do, though he would be lying if he said he doesn’t fantasize about it.

He doesn’t think she’s suggesting this just for him. Most likely, she’s been reading about it and wants to learn about it for herself. The fact that Bellamy will really like it just bolsters her argument for why she should get to try when Bellamy pretends to deliberate on it.

“That’s for big girls,” he tells her. Somehow, he manages a straight face. Clarke pushes herself up and furrows her brows. Did she think it would be that easy?

“I am a big girl,” she whines.

“No, you’re my baby,” he teases. Clarke scrunches up her nose, and he sits up to kiss it.

She changes tactics. “My birthday is next week.”

“Is it?” She knows he didn’t forget. Everyone at work has a strict “do not bother Bellamy” order for next Thursday when he will be busy putting the finishing touches on her little studio in the old guest bedroom before showering her with presents. Frankly, he’s looking forward to her birthday more than she is. Clarke never has good birthdays, apparently. Bellamy intends to change that.

“This could be an early present,” Clarke shrugs innocently. “Please, Daddy.”

“Do you really want to?”

It feels like overkill to ask that, especially since Clarke brought it up and begged him to let her. She’s an adult who knows what she’s doing and knows what she’s asking for. Every time she asks to try something new, he knows she has thought it through and researched it. She only gets up the nerve to ask because she trusts him. But still, he can’t help but ask one more time. Clarke is his baby, after all. Bellamy will probably always feel the need to double check with her.

“You’ll help me, right? I don’t really know how.”

Bellamy kisses her, because how could he not? Sometimes, he forgets that every new thing they do together is always brand new to her. She’s trusting him with more of her firsts.

These are the most dangerous moments, because he finds himself falling a little in each one, and his mind refuses to acknowledge the elephant in the room. Their contract should loom over every moment like this, reminding him that this is only a temporary transaction, not a real relationship. But his need to feel like it’s real is stronger than his logic, so all thoughts of contracts and the day Clarke doesn’t need him anymore disappear.

“Yeah.”

She sits up and pushes the blankets off him. Her blonde hair tickles his rib cage as she leans over and carefully takes his half-hard cock into her hand. Even this part is a little unfamiliar to them since the few times Clarke has felt bold enough to take him in her hand have been interrupted by Bellamy’s impatience and need to be inside her immediately.

Clarke touching him is a little bit like that triple chocolate cake with triple chocolate icing that was his favorite as a kid. Too good and too much all at once. Bellamy gets so overwhelmed by her warm, soft hand wrapped around him and the way she gnaws at her bottom lip as she tries different things. But he’s going to be good today and let her do this to him. It will be too good and too much and he might lose it a little, but he will be good. Just like she is always good for him.

Bellamy finds himself watching her face as she strokes him, loving how her eyes light up as he grows hard in her hands. Beaming and so proud of herself.

“That’s so good, princess,” he murmurs, running his hand down her bare back. Being good and not taking over gets easier when he focuses on encouraging her. Little touches here and there, nothing that will ever lead to anything, and occasional verbal praise.

Clarke leans down like she is about to try and take him in her mouth but freezes. Bellamy reaches out toward her, brushing her hair out of her face. There’s a puzzled expression on her face as she studies his cock like she’s trying to figure it out.

“You’re okay,” he tells her. “You can start by giving it a little kiss.”

She nods as her fingers spread his precum down his cock. The puzzled expression doesn’t leave her, not until she strokes him a few more times before leaning down to kiss the head. It’s an innocent little kiss. Quick and sweet and barely hard enough for him to feel it, but it’s too much.

“Yeah, just like that,” he chokes out. She does it again, this time letting her lips rest there longer. The third time he feels her, it’s her tongue swiping across the head, lapping up his precum. “Shit.”

“Is that okay? Did that… did that feel good?” Her mouth just hovers over his cock now, her breath hot against his aching cock.

“Yes. God, yes,” he stammers, and he’s so eager to feel it again that he almost misses the feeling of her lips curving into a smile just above his cock.

Clarke pulls off him, grinning victoriously as she resettles herself between his legs. Bellamy instantly misses having her close enough to touch.

“Come back.”

“No, I want to be able to look at you,” she tells him. Before he can argue anymore, her tongue darts out and licks up the side of his cock. Whatever argument he was about to pull out of his ass dissipates because watching Clarke lick his cock without her hair blocking his view is worth not being able to touch her right now. “So, do I just put my mouth on it?”

“Yeah, uh. Just start with a little bit, okay?”

Her wide eyes leave his and she turns her attention back to the dick in her hands. She kisses it a few times, once on the tip and the other times on the side. Clarke looks back up at him like she has a question, but instead of asking, she slowly lowers her mouth onto him. She just closes her lips around the tip when her eyes flicker back up to him.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, and she pulls up for a breath before trying again. Bellamy doesn’t have to give her much direction, just encouragement. After a minute, Clarke falls into a rhythm. Moves her head up and down him, sucking him so softly like he’s a fragile thing. He has no doubt that Clarke has researched blow jobs all week. Probably watched a lot of porn, though she knows she’s not supposed to without Daddy.

Simply thinking about how much thought Clarke put into this makes him almost come. His baby girl planning this for days, thinking about how she could make him feel good… it’s too much. Clarke is too much. Too good.

Clarke gags when she tries to take more of him, and the vibration makes his hips jerk. She pulls off him and sucks in a shaky breath, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and a line of spit connecting between her lips and the tip.

“It’s okay,” Bellamy tells her as he leans forward to run his hand through her hair. Clarke nods, and playing the part of the brave, big girl, she takes him again.

Watching her is mesmerizing. She fumbles a bit, still trying to get the hang of this, but she’s determined. And the fumbling makes it better. Reminds him that he’s the only one she’s done this with. Another first she’s giving him when she didn’t have to. Any time she does this again, Bellamy will be transported back to this moment with Clarke almost smiling around his dick when she looks up to see how good she’s made him feel.

No one has ever looked at him like that. Eyes all lit up and struggling to keep her lips around him because what she sees makes her want to smile. He’s had the cocky grin and smug look thrown his way, the sexy, mischievous look of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing to him. And that does something to him too. But this right here is as close to pure as it gets when a dick is being sucked. Clarke just looks so happy that she’s making him feel good, that she’s getting to take care of him.

“Thank you, baby,” he tells her between shallow breaths. “You feel so good.”

His words are inadequate. Nothing he can say will capture the suffocating warmth that is flooding every inch of him as he peers into those baby blues. It’s all too much and too good that he can’t wrap his head around these strange, overwhelming feelings.

“I’m going to come,” he warns her. Her lips pop off him and her hands take over while she catches her breath. “Do you want to try to swallow for me?”

“Okay, Daddy.” Her voice is raspy and dry, and his head falls back with a broken moan because the sound of her voice right now has got to be the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. Her warm little mouth envelops him again, and, as if trying to send him to the grave, she hums ever so quietly around his cock.

It’s over for him as soon as he feels it. Clarke gags as he involuntarily thrusts into her mouth, but she recovers quickly like a good girl. She doesn’t swallow all of it, but not for a lack of trying. His come coats her shiny lips when she finally pulls off him, and Bellamy reaches forward to wipe it off with his thumb.

“Come here,” he whispers, pulling Clarke up on top of him. Their lips settle against each other as Bellamy pulls her tight against his chest. He can taste himself on her mouth, a sensation that makes his spent cock twitch just a little. “That was so good, baby.”

She giggles as he peppers her cheeks and forehead with kisses. When it gets to be too much, she buries her blushing face into his chest.

Bellamy settles his lips against her hair and murmurs, “Can I take care of you now? Why don’t you come sit on my face, baby?” Another thing they haven’t done yet that he can’t wait to do.

“We should probably deal with dinner,” she says. Bellamy turns to look at the clock and curses under his breath. He really should have dealt with this earlier and not let Clarke distract him. But he’s still tempted to push this further, to make her come at least once before he does something about dinner. Then, he hears her stomach growl and pushes that idea off until after she’s eaten.

“I’ll see how long the wait is for delivery,” he grumbles. “Hop in the shower and I’ll join you in a second.” Clarke plants a kiss to his mouth before rolling off him.

He’s delusional enough to think that at least one restaurant will deliver within the hour on a night where a college football game is being played just three blocks from his apartment and everyone who is not at the game is ordering delivery so they don’t leave their TV’s long enough to miss any part of the game. Needless to say, the wait time is ridiculous. His stomach growls, and he knows he is not going to wait an hour and a half at minimum to get food.

He glances out the window across the street at the Italian restaurant that knows his takeout order by heart. It doesn’t look too crowded… probably because it’s the only restaurant on the block that doesn’t have a TV to broadcast the game on. He could get takeout. Better yet, they could just eat there and stuff their faces with garlic bread while they wait for food.

Bellamy joins Clarke in the shower and tells her the new plan, and her eyes light up as soon as he mentions garlic bread. They don’t fool around like they normally do in the shower, both of them getting right to business because they’re starving. Orgasms later, garlic bread now.

In twenty minutes, they’re walking hand in hand across the street. When he asks the host for a table for two, it hits him that this is kind of like a first date. A weird thought to have about the girl who had his cock in her mouth half an hour ago, but a true one. They don’t go out to dinner. Never have. He’s taking her out for her birthday and hasn’t thought much about it, but now that he’s in a restaurant with her, Bellamy suddenly realizes how couple-y this all feels.

It’s not a bad feeling. Just a strange one.

“Bellamy!” he hears an all too familiar voice shout, and he curses under his breath. When he turns his head, he sees Monty and Jasper sitting in a booth in the corner. Of all the restaurants for them to be at tonight…

He glances at Clarke. He’s never told them about her, and for good reason. But now, he has to introduce them. Bellamy gives her an apologetic look that she doesn’t understand and tugs her by the hand toward their table.

“Hey, guys,” Bellamy says. But neither of them are looking at him. They’re too busy staring at the blonde bombshell holding his hand and trying to make sense of the sight of their perpetually bad-at-relationships friend on what appears to be a date.

“Hi!” Jasper says a little too loud. “I’m Jasper. And who are you?” There’s a smile on his lips that could only be described as ecstatic.

“Clarke. So, does that make you Monty?” she asks, gesturing toward Monty. Jasper’s grin only grows.

“That I am,” Monty says, his eyes flickering between Bellamy and Clarke.

Mercifully, the host comes up to say the table is ready. But before Bellamy can grab Clarke and run to the other side of the restaurant, Jasper says, “Oh, no. They’re with us.” Bellamy could kill him.

“Yeah, we haven’t even ordered yet,” Monty tells Clarke. His brain just short circuits as Monty moves to sit next to Jasper and two new place settings appear. It doesn’t hit him that he could say no until he’s already seated beside Clarke.

Monty takes the lead and asks Clarke about what she does, and she tells him about finishing her final year of college and the internship she’s applying for next semester, which is news to Bellamy. But he’ll ask her about that later. Right now, he’s trying to figure out what he can get away with telling Jasper and Monty about Clarke. The truth is obviously out of the question. Plus, the NDA is in place to protect Clarke just as much as it’s there to protect him. He’s not going to go around telling everyone that she’s his sugar baby.

He settles on them not being very serious, just casually dating. Something very early, too early to put labels on. Then, he remembers that Clarke lives with him, and if either of them ever shows up at his apartment, which is quite likely, they will learn that Clarke lives with him. Which makes it very serious in their eyes.

An angel in the form of a waiter appears and takes his and Clarke’s drink orders, but he’s gone again too soon, leaving Bellamy alone to face two of his closest friends in the world who have a mountain of questions for them.

“So, how did you meet Bellamy?” Monty asks.

Bellamy begins to panic, but Clarke is quick and replies, “We met online. My friend Raven had been pestering me to give it a try for a while, but I was kind of nervous about the whole thing. Luckily, it turns out I had nothing to worry about. Bellamy’s great.”

He squeezes her knee under the table as a silent thank you. The waiter drops a basket of garlic bread onto the table and says he’ll be back for their orders, not stalling the interrogation long enough to stop Jasper from asking, “How long have you two, uh, been seeing each other?”

Clarke isn’t going to save him from this question. She breaks a piece of garlic bread and puts a piece into her mouth, giving him a pointed look. It’s frustrating, but she’s giving him the chance to lie to his friends how he wants to. The contract didn’t cover what to do if their friends or family found out, so this is uncharted territory.

Bellamy decides to take Clarke’s tactic: sticking as close to the truth as possible. In fact, Clarke didn’t lie about a single thing. And if he’s smart about this, he might not have to either.

“A while,” he says vaguely, but it’s clear they’re less satisfied with his answer than they were with Clarke’s by how Jasper and Monty both turn back to her.

“He doesn’t even remember,” Clarke laughs before swatting his arm.

“Well, are we going by when we first met or—”

He’s tempted to kiss the waiter when he returns to take their order. And as soon as he’s gone, Clarke stops any advance on the interrogation by asking about Monty’s recent engagement, which turns into a discussion about Jasper planning his best man’s toast where Monty rejects every bad pun on Green that Jasper can come up with.

It’s easy sailing after that because as it turns out, Clarke actually remembers every little thing Bellamy has said in passing about these two. She knows just the right questions to ask to keep them talking about their newest project up until the salads arrive.

Bellamy finally relaxes. Then, she leaves to go to the restroom, and Jasper and Monty both stare in his direction.

“What?” he huffs.

“I like her. Is this serious?” Jasper asks.

“Yeah,” he lies.

“But like how serious?”

“We live together.” Monty drops his fork. Jasper slaps his hand on the table. Bellamy regrets admitting that fact, but they were bound to find out eventually. Might as well rip that band-aid off now. “Also, I was clearly here on a date with her. On what planet is it okay for you two to hijack a date?”

“On the planet where your friends have been worried about you being all alone only to find out you have a secret girlfriend,” Monty says. “Are you bringing her on Wednesday?”

God, Bellamy forgot all about the fundraiser Roan is throwing. He blew off the invite because, well, he doesn’t like going to these things, and it’s not like Roan is an actual friend. It’s all surface level. They do business. Occasionally, they go out to bars together. But the only thing they have in common is the whole sugar daddy thing, which Bellamy only found out about after getting a few drinks into him. And even then, Roan is like a pro at being a sugar daddy, and this is probably Bellamy’s first and only time to do it.

“I’m not going. I’m doing this whole thing for Clarke’s birthday,” he says, which is all technically true.

Monty eyes him suspiciously, and when Clarke walks back to the table, he asks, “Is it true you have a birthday this week?”

“Yeah. Thursday.” Bellamy ducks his head and bites down a groan.

“So, you’re free Wednesday night?” Jasper asks, and there’s no way to get this train back on the tracks, so he just lets it happen.

“I think so. Bell, do we have anything?” He shakes his head because he can’t think of a lie to get them out of this. Monty and Jasper know him. They know he has to be dragged out to parties and be social. They’re taking this golden opportunity to bully him into it.

“Great. This friend of ours is throwing this fundraiser, and you should come,” Jasper announces victoriously.

Food comes out, the interrogation ends, and conversation turns to more pleasant things like Halloween and a debate over if The Nightmare Before Christmas is a Halloween or a Christmas movie and Monty and Clarke gang up on Jasper, telling him that watching it at Thanksgiving makes no fucking sense. Bellamy drifts in and out of conversation, too busy memorizing each detail he relayed to Jasper and Monty so that he can repeat them exactly in front of a larger crowd of rich society people he doesn’t even like on Wednesday. He makes a mental note to update Murphy, his friend and lawyer who wrote up his contract with Clarke, on the new cover story. Bellamy also needs more details for their story. Specific dates when they started dating, when they moved in, etc. He needs to figure out what to wear. Clarke probably has to go shopping. The list of things to get done before Wednesday is so long and consuming that Bellamy barely remembers to say goodbye to his meddling friends.

When they get back to the apartment, Bellamy lies and says he has some work to do in his office before bed. He instantly feels guilty for lying to Clarke, but it’s either that or let her see him have a panic attack. And letting her see him hyperventilate and fall apart is out of the question. So, he makes peace with the lie, lies down on the rug in his office, and tries to think about anything other than being trapped in a stuffy ballroom full of rich people who he doesn’t fit in with and who look down at him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no smut this chapter, but a lot of feelings

Being someone’s date when they clearly never wanted you to be is a weird feeling. It reminds her of that time Wells asked her to their first Homecoming even though his crush still didn’t have a date and he’d much rather take her than Clarke, but ultimately he asked Clarke because he felt sort of obligated to because they’re best friends and no other boys asked her. Easily one of the most awkward nights of her life, and she ended up crying at the end of it. Not because she was jealous of that girl whose name she’s long since forgotten, but because she spent every second being all too aware that Clarke was not who he wanted to be with that night.

As soon as Bellamy and Clarke get into his car, she knows she made a mistake. When Jasper and Monty cornered her, she should have made up having an exam the next day or lied about plans with Raven. But she assumed that if they tried to rope her into plans that Bellamy wasn’t okay with, he would put a stop to it. They’re his friends, after all. She wanted to give him control of how they lied to them. But he didn’t, and here they are.

The car ride is silent to the point that Clarke begins thinking of last-minute excuses to get him to turn the car around. But it’s too late. He’s in his tux, looking a little too beautiful for comfort, and Clarke is all dolled up in the golden, long dress, peep-toe heels, and jewelry Bellamy got her. They’re doing this, even if it kills them.

Since Saturday, they’ve agreed on more concrete details for their relationship. Dated for six months before moving in together. Met on Tinder of all places, which prompted Clarke to download Tinder and ask him to explain how it works in case it comes up. Serious, but not so serious that they’ve met each other’s families and are talking about getting married one day.

Though she feels uncomfortable being here with him when he clearly didn’t want to bring her to this, she feels oddly at ease as she walks into the hotel ballroom with his hand at her back. More at ease than he does, to say the least. It’s been years since Clarke had been to an event like this, but it feels like it could have been yesterday. It’s like walking onto the stage after skipping rehearsal for a week and miraculously remembering all your blocking and lines. Clarke is dressed the part, has a rich man on her arm, and holds herself like a graduate of Arkadian Prep should. Internally, she knows she doesn’t belong here anymore, but externally, she looks like she never left.

Jasper, Monty, and a beautiful blonde that she can only assume is Harper approach them, and Bellamy finally relaxes a little. The five of them find a corner and fall into easy conversation. Harper interrogates Bellamy about Clarke just a bit more subtly than her fiancé and his best man did, but Bellamy is ready for it this time. He goes through the story they agreed upon, complete with staged kisses to Clarke’s cheek and smiles a little too forced. She hates it. Hates this.

It’s been easy to let herself think Bellamy might care about her. Well, he does care about her, but it’s an inevitable fondness when you spend as much time together as they do. Not the kind of feelings that he would have for a real girlfriend. And tonight’s staging finally shatters the last of this illusion she had that it could be more one day. It’s all fake. Bellamy is paying for a lie, and Clarke was almost stupid enough to fall for it.

Her unease isn’t helped by all the faces she recognizes and how many of them seem to know her but can’t quite place her. The hospital director keeps stealing glances her way, trying to figure out why she looks so familiar to him. One of her father’s old colleagues nods in her direction as he passes by, not feeling confident enough that he knows her name to stop and say hello.

Then, the inevitable happens. Someone remembers her.

“Clarke Griffin?” she hears a man call out, and when she turns, there is Dr. Eric Jackson.

To be honest, Clarke doesn’t remember a lot of the doctors her mother worked with. They all blend together in a sea of white lab coats. But Jackson is different. Abby Griffin took him under her wing. This man had been coming to dinners at their house ever since he got out of medical school. He was also the only person in that hospital to defend her mom when everything fell apart.

She smiles, genuinely happy to see a friendly face from her old life. They hug, and it’s one of those hugs where you laugh a little because it’s such a relief. Clarke is vaguely aware of Monty and Harper departing from their little cluster and Jasper making some joke that doesn’t land.

“How’s your mom?” he asks, and the happy bubble bursts. As she steps back, Bellamy’s hand finds her back. Not staged, but out of genuine concern. He confuses her all the damn time. One second, everything is staged, and the next, he seems to actually care about her the way she wants him to. “I went to visit her recently, and they said she’s been discharged.”

“She has,” Clarke replies, her cheeks burning from her forced smile. “She’s with Marcus just south of here in Alpha Station. You remember Marcus, right?”

“Yeah. So, that’s good! She’s doing better?”

There’s no good way to answer that. Abby Griffin is not doing better in Clarke’s opinion, which no one but Clarke seems to care about. Social etiquette, which is basically just a system of polite lies, dictates that she says yes and pretends everything is fine. But Jackson is like a son to her mother, and she feels like he deserves to know the truth. Then again, he looks so relieved to hear that she’s doing better, like it’s been weighing on him as much as it has weighed on her. Maybe the kinder thing is to let this burden fall off his shoulders.

“Hi,” Bellamy says, sticking his hand out toward Jackson. “I’m Bellamy.” Clarke lets out a sigh of relief.

“Eric. I used to work with Dr. Griffin,” he explains. She tenses, waiting for him to realize Clarke never answered his question, but Bellamy asks him about where he’s working before that happens. Their conversation takes off from there and Clarke can hardly get a word in. Bellamy’s anxiety about being here with her just disappears for a few minutes to let Clarke get herself back together. Apparently, they have a mutual friend named Miller. Or maybe it’s Nathan. Bellamy says Miller, and Jackson says Nathan, but they’re clearly talking about the same person. Then, Jackson says that Miller is here, and before she knows it, Bellamy is saying he’ll be right back and taking off with Jackson.

Clarke settles next to Jasper and takes a deep breath. That would have been a disaster without Bellamy there, which should be a relief. But it makes her anxious. Bellamy won’t always be there to take care of her and to swoop in like a knight in shining armor right when she needs him most. He doesn’t even want to be here with her tonight.

“What’s wrong with your mom?” Jasper asks, and it’s probably the only serious thing she’s ever heard come out of his mouth.

She ponders making something up, but there’s no point. Jasper can always just google her and learn the whole sordid tale. So, she says, “She’s an addict.”

“Yikes.” That reaction catches her so off guard that Clarke awkwardly laughs. “Sorry, I mean, that’s horrible. I’m sure Bellamy has told you that I’m an alcoholic.”

“He hasn’t.” Now that she thinks about it, he drank water at dinner on Saturday. The drink in his hand looks like a vodka soda, probably designed that way so no one here suspects. Before Clarke can think better of it, she adds, “Yikes.” And Jasper almost keels over from laughing so hard. Then, she starts laughing, and it turns into one of those moments where they aren’t even laughing because the _yikes_ was that funny. His laugh fuels hers and her laugh fuels his, and it just goes on like that until laughing hurts too much.

As they calm down, something across the room catches his attention. He curses under his breath before muttering, “I didn’t know she would be here.”

Clarke follows his gaze to find a woman that she can only describe as gorgeous. Brunette, tall, thin, probably did modeling at some point in her life. Has cheekbones that Clarke would kill for. She should hate this woman like a lot of the other women in the room have already decided to, but she’s just too pretty to look away from. Clarke is a little too bi to even try.

Her smile is so mesmerizing that Clarke misses that the woman is smiling at Bellamy until she pulls him in for a hug.

“In my defense, I never thought Bellamy would show up,” someone behind her says, earning a snort from Jasper. It’s a familiar voice, but she can’t figure out why.

If she thought seeing Jackson had shaken her, she was sadly mistaken. Seeing Roan standing beside her is like having the rug ripped out from under her.

He blinks a few times before the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. “Clarke,” he says, amused. “How long has it been?”

She isn’t sure why, but it never occurred to her that she might run into one of the men she met with again. It should have. There aren’t that many rich men in this city, and the odds that they might know each other are high.

“You met Bellamy’s girlfriend before we did?” Jasper groans, and Clarke swallows.

Roan’s eyes dart over to where Bellamy is talking to America’s Next Top Model and then back to Clarke, his lips forming a huge grin as he pieces it all together.

“Oh, Clarke and I go way back,” Roan teases. He can’t say anything about how they met. They signed an agreement. Clarke can’t out him and he can’t out her. But she still feels panicked that he might say something.

Jasper’s interest in their alleged friendship dwindles when a tray of appetizers whizzes past them, and in a flash, he’s gone, leaving Clarke all alone with a man who, after knowing her for all of five minutes, told her in no uncertain terms that he couldn’t wait to fuck her ass.

“So, Bellamy, huh,” he whispers, and Clarke presses her lips together. She left things on pretty good terms. Thanked him for his time and offer, but someone else seemed to be a better fit for her at the moment. He asked her to give him a call when her contract was up, and she said she would even though she knew she wouldn’t. “Can I ask why?”

“No,” she shrugs, and he chuckles.

“Oh, come on. The confidentiality thing is only for people who don’t know. I know exactly what kind of arrangement you have with Blake, so tell me.” Clarke shrugs again and fixes her gaze across the room. “Or would you rather watch Bellamy trip over himself in front of the girl who shot down his proposal?”

Clarke’s head snaps back in Roan’s direction. Then, it swivels back toward Bellamy, who has shoved his hands into his pockets as he talks with that beautiful woman and the man on her arm. He proposed to her? How did Clarke not know that Bellamy once proposed to someone? Hell, she thought he hadn’t had a serious girlfriend before based on how he talks about his dating life.

“Yeah, that was a whole mess,” Roan continues. “The main mistake was asking in front of a crowd. That made it all the worse when Echo politely said no.”

She barely listens, only picking up the beautiful woman’s name. _Echo_. It’s the kind of name you don’t forget, certainly not when it fits her so well. It’s sleek and edgy, a bit like her with her glossy hair and daring black dress.

So, this is the kind of woman Bellamy wants. Someone he loved enough to want to marry.

Clarke feels all the more ridiculous now. She’s playing house with someone who used to date _that_, and for a moment there, she started to fall for it. She actually wondered if there was a way to make it real. But looking at Echo now, she knows there’s not. Bellamy isn’t going to fall for the Art History major with a mess of a personal life and more emotional baggage that can ever be processed in her lifetime. Not when he’s had _that_. God, could he have managed to pick a sugar baby that was any more different from Echo?

“So, back to the topic at hand, was it the allowance?”

“What?” Clarke huffs.

“Think of this like an exit poll,” Roan jokes, and she eyes the exit. Could she just leave? Probably not, but it’s a nice fantasy to have. “How did you make your decision?”

“You really just want to know why him and not you,” she groans. When she looks back at Echo, Bellamy is no longer with her. Echo looks upset. What did she miss?

“Yes, actually. I really thought you would say yes.” Why does he care? Clarke is nothing special. The only interesting thing about her is that she’s new to all of it. So, what? Did he just want to break her in and is now upset that someone else got to?

At the beginning of the evening, when Clarke was too worried about saying or doing the wrong thing, she wouldn’t have said this. But it’s been a long night. She’s had to pretend to be Bellamy’s girlfriend, face Jackson and mislead him into thinking her addict mother is finally recovering when she isn’t, and see the Amazon Bellamy used to be in love with, which she can’t even be upset about because A) Bellamy is not really hers and B) Echo is so beautiful that Clarke might consider proposing too. And now, instead of getting a minute to accept the fact that Bellamy will never care about her the way she’s started to care for him, she has to deal with Roan wanting to know why he wasn’t special enough for Clarke to choose him? So, maybe, she snaps a little. 

“You want the truth? You scared the shit out of me,” Clarke tells him. “Who tells a woman they just met the kind of things you said to me?”

“What? Should I have wined and dined you like an actual date? I wanted to fuck you, and you wanted money. Why dance around that?” he chuckles, and she rolls her eyes. “So, that’s why. You wanted to pretend. That’s why you picked him.”

He says it matter of fact. Like an anthropologist studying her. There’s no annoyance or grudge, just a moment of understanding. So, it shouldn’t feel like a slap in the face.

But it does because he’s right. Clarke wanted to pretend. She can’t be hurt that it’s never going to be real when she knew going into this that it’s all pretend.

Bellamy chooses this moment to remember he brought a date. He steps between Roan and Clarke, settling his hand on her waist, and he looks genuinely confused as his eyes dart between them.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” Bellamy says.

“Oh, we only met once, and it was a short meeting,” Roan replies. Bellamy’s hand tightens on Clarke’s waist, and there’s no mistaking his swift realization. After all, in what other setting could Clarke and Roan have possibly met?

Something in the air shifts, something heavy and overwhelming. Bellamy holds her a little closer, and though he picks up small talk with Roan, his jaw is tense and their bantering feels forced. Roan is finally called away to put out some fire, so to speak, leaving Clarke and Bellamy alone in awkward silence.

He can’t be upset, right? Bellamy knew that she met with other men before him. And what does it matter that Roan was one of them? She chose Bellamy, and it’s not like there was really competition. Certainly not from Roan. And it’s not like she’ll give Roan a call whenever Bellamy decides he’s done with her.

Clarke won’t call any of them. This is a one-time thing for her because she’s not sure she could go through this again with someone else. Either it won’t be the same and she’ll miss him or it will be the same and she’ll get her hopes up again. Lose-lose no matter what happens.

“Would you hate me if I said I wanted to leave?” Bellamy whispers into her hair, and she shakes her head.

The whole ride home, she’s calculating how she’ll get by if Bellamy decides he’s done with her tomorrow. It would be rough, but she could manage it. She’s barely touched the money he’s given her, only dipping into it to pay off debts and buy her textbooks. Clarke could move back into her old building, pick up at least one of her old jobs, and get to graduation comfortably. If things got tight, she could always ask Marcus for a loan. It’s doable. She doesn’t need Bellamy, which will make it all the easier when he doesn’t need her anymore.

In the parking garage, they sit in the car for a minute. Bellamy is taking deep breaths, and it hits her that something might actually be wrong with him.

“Bellamy?” she whispers.

“Just give me a second,” he sighs, but he does take her hand when she reaches for him. Her eyes scan him, looking for any sign of what could be wrong, but there’s nothing to find. Bellamy looks fine, just like he’s looked fine all night. Clarke is missing something, and maybe if she hadn’t been throwing herself a pity party all night and planning exit strategies despite everything being fine, she wouldn’t be. “I just, uh, I get overwhelmed at these things.”

“Oh.”

“I have just a touch of social anxiety,” Bellamy mutters. “It’s normally fine, but at these things… I don’t know. There’s a reason I never go. And it doesn’t help that I don’t really fit in with those people.”

Her instinct is to argue that he does fit in, but she holds that back. Sure, she can see it. Clarke has been around these kinds of people all her life and knows that half the people in that room would kill to be Bellamy. But it doesn’t matter if he does fit in, not if he doesn’t feel like he does.

What a pair they make. A daughter of a disgraced doctor who knows how to play the part but will never be part of this world again, and a poor boy turned millionaire who might never feel like he belongs in the world he worked so hard to get into. If this weren’t all pretend, it would make one hell of a movie.

“If you fit in with people like Roan, I might not like you as much,” she offers, and he laughs so loud that it echoes through his car.

“Please tell me he was not your second choice for, you know,” he chuckles.

“I’m not allowed to tell you specifics, but God no.”

“Thank God,” he groans. With a sigh, he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door. Clarke does the same.

As they walk to the elevator, his hand finds hers. Bellamy likes to play with her hand a lot. She’s not even sure he’s aware he does it. But if he’s not touching her in some other way, which he almost always is, he’s playing with her hand.

It’s the little things like this that fuel her hope that he might want something more than what the contract laid out. He’s always touching her or looking at her, and no one ever touches her or looks at her the way he does. It feels so special. Like it’s all hers. But it might not be. She imagines he touched Echo like this and looked at her this way. Probably at a level that Clarke will never experience. Maybe it just feels special because Bellamy is her first everything, and it’s not special to him because Clarke isn’t his first anything. Not even his first baby.

His arms wrap around her stomach and he pulls her back against him as they walk into the apartment. She tries to turn and face him, but he holds her there as his lips trail down her cheek.

“Thank you for coming with me. I’m sorry it was awful,” he whispers. He kisses her hair and settles his mouth just above her ear. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look?”

Not enough.

And she must say it out loud because Bellamy laughs. But it’s true. He told her once as they walked out the door and barely spoke to her since. It felt like the obligatory thing to say, and it grew meaningless when he didn’t follow up on it like he normally does.

Maybe his excessive compliments have spoiled her, because in the grand scheme of things, this is nothing. But she pouts a little anyway and turns her head away when he apologizes with kisses.

“So beautiful, but you don’t need me to tell you that,” he whispers, and it’s almost enough to make her give in. Then, he brings out the big guns. “My beautiful little princess.” Her lips find his so fast that he jumps in surprise.

His phone ringing breaks them apart, and Echo’s name lights up on his screen.

“I’ll go change while you take that,” she says, taking off toward her room before he can say no. The phone is still ringing when Clarke shuts her door.

Her body falls against the door as soon as it’s shut, and she sucks in a shaky breath. Clarke is being ridiculous. Who cares that Bellamy has an ex-girlfriend that he never told her about? It doesn’t affect her. She’s not here to be his girlfriend, after all. If Bellamy wanted a girlfriend, he would have one. But instead he has Clarke.

In the bathroom, Clarke takes off her earrings in front of the mirror. Just hours ago, she was standing right here and admiring how beautiful she looked in her new dress and jewelry, and now she can’t help but see a little girl playing dress up. Pretend, as Roan put it. Playing the part of Bellamy’s girlfriend all while knowing she’ll never be that.

She just has to make peace with it. Her exit strategy from earlier was a bit premature. Clarke doesn’t think Bellamy will be done with her tomorrow. He’s the kind of person who will give her advance notice. So, she can relax for now. Nothing has changed.

Clarke throws on a conservative pink negligee, another present from Bellamy, and pads back out of her room. Bellamy is exactly where she left him but not on the phone. She wants to ask about the call, but it’s not her place. He didn’t want her to know about Echo, anyway.

“I was thinking,” he says as Clarke walks up to him. His hands pull at her waist until she’s pressed against his chest. “Your birthday starts in two hours.”

Clarke had forgotten all about her birthday. It’s not too uncommon of an occurrence. Last year, it took being bombarded with Facebook notifications for her to remember it was her birthday.

“Would you like an early present?”

She doesn’t really care. Clarke is sure that whatever he got her is beautiful and way too expensive and will make Raven seethe with envy. But right now, all she wants is for this day to end and for her to wake up with a clear head. She’s been all over the place tonight with self-pity, jealousy, and painful flashes of affection for Bellamy. Clarke just wants to sleep this off.

“Okay,” she concedes because she knows that’s the answer he wants. His face lights up, and her apathy dissipates at the beautiful sight. His hands cover her eyes without warning, and Clarke laughs. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t peek.” Then, he starts nudging her forward. Apparently, this gift involves going somewhere. Normally, they’re all wrapped up with a bow and easy to drop in her lap.

“You didn’t tell me this gift involved walking,” she teases.

“Hush.” He turns her, and if her sense of direction is right, they’re going down the hallway. Is he just taking her to his room? Is the present sex?

They’re walking too far for it to be his room, and he turns her again. It could still be sex, just not in his room. Or maybe he’s just messing with her by making her walk this much. Maybe they’ve already passed it but he’s trying to disorient her so that she’ll be properly surprised when she opens her eyes.

“Keep your eyes shut,” he tells her when one of his hands leaves her face. A door creaks open and a light is flickered on. Then, his hand returns and he turns her one more time.

She smells paint. Whatever room they’re in must have had a fresh coat done in the last week, but she doesn’t remember seeing anyone come in to do work in the apartment.

“I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I finished early.” Clarke is running through what this could possibly be, but she’s stumped. Whatever this is, it’s not like other presents he’s given her. It’s something he’s worked on, which in of itself is confusing. Rich people don’t work on things. They buy things.

“What is it?” she asks, and a nervous laugh slips through her voice.

Behind her, she feels Bellamy take in a deep breath. Finally, his hands fall from her face.

The room is bright. Clarke has to blink a few times to adjust after having Bellamy’s hands over her eyes for the last three minutes. Her first thought is not about whatever the present is but about how the lighting in this room would be perfect for painting.

She’s too busy looking for something with a bow on it that she misses the easel right in front of her on the first look around. It’s all the other things that makes her piece the gift together. The blank canvases in the corner. The floor to ceiling shelves that contain everything from paint brushes to the inspiration binders she thought were still packed in a box in her closet. Paint. Lots and lots of paint. It’s only then that her eyes go back to the dark wooden easel just a foot away from her.

Her present isn’t in the room. The room is her present.

“You made me a studio?”

It’s not like the one she had in her old home, the one her dad designed after years of Clarke begging for one. That one started off with white walls like these, but Clarke would add a little something to them whenever the paint came out. Sometimes an accidental splatter, other times a small bird or flower. Whatever she could think of to use up the extra paint she had already poured out.

It broke her heart to say goodbye to that little room. She took pictures, of course. And she still has a few remnants of it that she could bring in here.

“I tried to,” Bellamy says from behind her. “Had to call my brother-in-law a few times for advice on it. I mean, I could have just asked you, but that would ruin the surprise. And it was hard enough keeping it a secret since I could only come in here to work on it while you were asleep or working on homework.”

Clarke’s eyes keep darting across the room, and it hits her that Bellamy not only did this for her, but he physically put all this together. She didn’t see anyone come in to paint this room because Bellamy did. He put the shelves up himself. He researched what all she needed in a studio. How many hours went into this gift that she never saw coming? That she didn’t even ask for? And for a gift that Bellamy doesn’t really benefit from? It’s not like when he buys her a nice dress and gets to see her in it. This is something he made for her just for… what exactly? To make her happy? To make her feel more at home here? To give her a space of her own?

This is too much work to put in for someone that he’s almost done with. This is something you give when you want someone to stay for a long time.

She opens her mouth to say thank you, but instead, she gets too overwhelmed and cries.

“Hey, hey,” Bellamy whispers, stepping around her so that he’s standing in front of her. His fingers make quick work of pushing back her avalanche of tears, and there’s this panicked look in his eyes like he did something wrong.

“I’m okay,” she promises before sniffling. He still looks worried, so she adds, “I’m crying because I’m happy, okay?”

Bellamy’s face lights up in a way she’s never seen before. “You like it?” he asks, smile huge and goofy.

Her laugh is all watery, and she can’t bring herself to care. Clarke takes his face between her hands, gets up on her tiptoes, and gives him a long kiss. When she pulls back to take a breath, she whispers, “I love it, Daddy.”

Her cheek falls against his chest as she looks around her new studio, the one he made for her. And now, it is that much harder to say that she’s pretending. She isn’t. Clarke has fallen for this beautiful lie, and all hopes of recovering from that died in this little studio tonight.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW.
> 
> listen, if you knew just how many times my computer has glitched and deleted part of this chapter, you would understand why this chapter has been so fucking frustrating. just last night, I finished it only for it to delete the last thousand words. I wrote it again this morning, and god I feel like I just ran a fucking marathon.
> 
> anyway, sorry this took so long. I took November off from writing fanfiction so that I could focus on my ofic for nanowrimo, and it was harder than I thought to get back into fanfic after spending a month in dragon fairytale land. full disclosure, this will probably be my last Sugar update for 2019. I'm behind on so many things, Christmas is a week away and I'm not even close to ready for it, etc. so, please don't get concerned if you don't get the update notices for a little while. I'm not abandoning Sugar, I'm just flailing about with the nightmare that is adulthood. 
> 
> without further ado, tick tock it's dick o'clock

_Bellamy, call me back. You know I didn’t mean it like that. It was a joke_.

He hasn’t seen or heard from Echo in at least a year, and all the sudden, he sees her and ignores three of her phone calls in twenty-four hours. Bellamy deletes the voicemail before checking the time. He has at least another hour before Clarke gets home from her last class. So, he throws his phone onto his bed and decides to hop in the shower.

Though he tries not to, his thoughts drift back to last night at the fundraiser. Bellamy wasn’t prepared to see her, but it wasn’t unpleasant by any means to see her there with her boyfriend. In fact, he was excited to see her and hear about where she’s traveled to lately. But she was more interested in asking about the girl Bellamy came with, and as soon as Bellamy lied and said Clarke was his girlfriend, Echo joked, “You couldn’t find one straight from the cradle?”

Bellamy couldn’t get out of there fast enough after hearing that.

Clarke is younger than him, but he forgets that all the time. She turns twenty-two today, but she carries the world on her shoulders like someone in their late twenties or early thirties would. He thinks that everything with her mom forced her to grow up so fast, which might be part of why Clarke likes getting to be his baby.

Her age doesn’t bother him, and he’s pretty sure his age doesn’t bother her either. What bothers him is the judgmental tone in Echo’s voice when she made that joke. It’s the same one she took on when he first tried to explain his kinks to her. It made him feel like some kind of predator when all he wanted was to feel like someone needed him for once.

Those horrible feelings came rushing back last night. He’s spent years researching and understanding why he likes this kind of relationship. Hell, he even discussed it in therapy when his anxiety became unmanageable. Bellamy has finally worked through it all and accepted that he likes this and that’s okay. And in one “joke”, every insecurity about it that he thought had been long buried came back.

It didn’t help that his anxiety was going into overdrive with all those people in that crowded ballroom and worrying about how Clarke would fit in with his friends, which was a ridiculous concern since Clarke fits into every aspect of his life seamlessly. He couldn’t snap out of it, not even when it was just him and Clarke in his car.

It was only when he saw Clarke’s reaction to the studio that he came back to himself. She loved it and cried because she was so happy, and Bellamy felt happier than he had all month just seeing her like that. How could he have let Echo get into his head and make him think there’s something wrong about wanting to take care of her just because she’s younger? All the vocabulary and explanations for why Bellamy is drawn to this came flooding back, cutting down Echo’s snippy tone like a power saw to a tree.

Yeah, the age difference is a thing, but it’s not a problem. Nor is being her daddy. They’re both happy like this, giving each other the kind of affection they’ve been starved so long for.

When he gets out of the shower, he sends Echo a blow off text, insisting that it’s no big deal and he didn’t think much of it. He also adds in that he hopes she has fun in Toronto next week and prays that kills whatever it is that has made Echo fixate on making sure she and Bellamy are good. They are good. They just don’t understand each other. And that’s fine.

Clarke gets home half an hour later and eyes him with confusion as she drops her backpack on a chair in the kitchen. “Are you going somewhere?” she asks.

“To dinner.”

“Oh, with who?”

He almost laughs. “With you,” Bellamy replies. “It’s your birthday, you know.” Clarke blinks at him like she doesn’t follow. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says before pushing her hair back behind her ears. “It’s just, well, we never go out. I didn’t think you would want to—”

“I do. But do you? We can stay in if you want.” Though he secretly hopes she doesn’t want to stay in. Bellamy has been buzzing with excitement about tonight for a while now, like it’s a real date. “It’s your birthday. We’ll do whatever you want, baby.”

That gets a smile out of her. Clarke saunters up to him, smile wide and mischievous as she fingers the buttons of his shirt. “Whatever I want?” she asks.

“Whatever the hell you want.”

She kisses him, all sweet and warm. And suddenly, staying in doesn’t sound so bad. But she says, “I’ll go get dressed.”

“If you can’t find anything to wear, check inside the boxes on your bed.”

Her eyes widen for a half second before she swats at his arm. “You already gave me a present,” Clarke whines.

“Did you think you would just get one?” he laughs. She opens her mouth to argue, so he adds, “Good girls deserve more presents, and haven’t you been a good girl?”

He steals another kiss, and she finally murmurs, “Yes, Daddy.”

Bellamy smiles as he watches Clarke skip off to her room. The apartment is quiet enough that he can hear Clarke’s excited gasp when she opens the first box.

While she gets dressed, Bellamy meanders around the apartment, killing time. He doesn’t mean to, but he ends up in Clarke’s new studio. It’s out of habit, really. For the past month, he’s slipped into this room every time he had a spare second to check on its status or work on something.

Bellamy’s pleased to see the studio has already been put to use. A canvas rests on the easel with dark, bluish purple paint dabbed across the top and sides. He can’t make out what it’s going to be yet. She probably worked on it in the little time she had before she had to leave for class.

A few paint bottles have been pulled off the shelves and sit on the table next to a cardboard box Bellamy doesn’t recognize. He takes a step toward the table and sees that it’s a box full of her sketch books and supplies that she must be moving into her new studio. He’s about to turn from it when a gold frame catches his eye. It sits behind the box, propped up against the wall waiting to be hung.

Bellamy stops to get a better look at the three photos in the tall frame. The first is at one of those pottery painting studios, and a girl, who looks like Clarke would when she was between four and five, is covered in paint up to her elbow. Next to her is who he can only assume is Abby Griffin, looking like she’s on the verge of laughter while Clarke is very focused on the unicorn piggy bank she’s drowning in paint.

The second is what seems to be the Griffin’s kitchen table. Clarke, about nine or ten here, is looking up from her sketchbook to smile at the camera. A man who must be Jake Griffin is doing the same, except he’s looking up from some design on graph paper. He must be left-handed like Clarke because they both have matching graphite smeared all over their left hands in the photograph.

The third has all three of them. Clarke looks to be about thirteen or fourteen, he would guess. It must be at some showcase at school since it looks like they’re in a school cafeteria or gym. But the three Griffin’s are gathered around a painting that he assumes belongs to Clarke, all smiling perfectly for the camera.

He’s never seen photos of her family. Bellamy has felt like he has a pretty good grasp on her life before moving in with him, but clearly, he doesn’t. As he stares at these photos, he realizes that he knows nothing about what her life was like before her father died. Bellamy only knows about the bad things that came after his death. He’s had this bleak vision of what world Clarke grew up in, when really, it was wonderful. Full of love and happiness and two parents who adored her.

Bellamy has photos like these. Him and Octavia at the kitchen table. His mom and O on the sidelines at his soccer game. Halloween costumes and horrible Christmas cards that his mom delivered in person so she wouldn’t have to pay for stamps. All tucked away in a box Bellamy hasn’t opened in years. They hurt to look at because they remind him of what he’s lost… because like Clarke, he had a happy home too. Exhausted, sure. Broke as hell but full of love. Now, his mother is dead and his sister has cut him out of her life. That world was ripped from him just as quickly as Clarke’s was.

He finds his way into Clarke’s room where she’s fighting the clasp on her necklace. His arms wrap around her from behind, surprising her. It wasn’t his intention to make her jump. Bellamy just wanted to hold her after realizing that she knows exactly what it’s like to lose what Bellamy lost.

“You okay?” she asks. Bellamy nods and kisses her cheek. “Alright, then help me.”

Bellamy takes the clasp into his hands while Clarke pulls her hair to the side. Once he gets the necklace secured, his arms wrap back around her middle and he gives her cheek a kiss.

Across from them is a floor length mirror, and Bellamy takes his sweet time looking her reflection up and down. The dress is dark red velvet and stops at her midthigh. It’s not the most revealing thing he’s bought for her, not by a long shot. But the way it clings to her curves should be criminal. To top it off, she’s wearing dark red lipstick that he just knows he’s going to find on his collar from her kissing down his neck later tonight.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her, looking at her through the mirror. She turns her head into him, her smile bright and shy. He’s smiling too, and for some reason, the sight of it shocks him. It’s not like he never smiles. He just doesn’t ever see how he smiles at Clarke. And he looks so happy.

Why is that shocking? Bellamy is happy. He’s known that he’s been happy with Clarke. But looking at them in the mirror is like looking at those photographs he keeps buried. The only difference is that he didn’t know how happy he was when those photos were taken, but Bellamy is now very aware of how happy he is while he looks at their reflection.

“Should we go?” Clarke whispers, turning in his hold. He gives her cheek a quick peck and nods.

They Uber to the restaurant because Bellamy wants to drink tonight and also doesn’t like to valet. Well, he used to valet all the time because he kind of loved the rush he got from rolling up in his expensive car. Now, he knows that it was a douchebag move. He was full of moves like that when he made his first couple million.

He took Murphy on a business lunch to this restaurant to try it out first, though he didn’t tell Murphy that was the reason. He probably suspected, though.

Bellamy picked a table by the window for tonight, a secluded one with a beautiful view of the city. While Bellamy orders them both champagne, Clarke just beams at the view. He doesn’t dare interrupt, so he watches her for a while. Their glasses are filled, and she doesn’t even notice.

“I could paint this,” she whispers after a few minutes.

“You should.” Clarke finally tears her eyes away from the window to look at him. She takes her glass of champagne and takes a sip. Bellamy is smiling and he’s fairly certain it’s the same one that he wore in front of the mirror just before he left.

The two of them peruse the menu, and once they’ve made their orders, Bellamy’s hand finds Clarke’s across the table. They’re both on their second glass and Bellamy is quickly approaching his third. The buzz from the alcohol is making him feel all warm and relaxed, which is a relief given how nervous he was this morning about taking Clarke on what is essentially their first date. But why should he be nervous? It’s Clarke. He’s always relaxed and at peace when she’s at his side. He probably wouldn’t have lasted as long as he did last night if it wasn’t for her.

“You mentioned an internship the other day,” Bellamy says as they start on their salads. “I was a little distracted by, you know, Monty and Jasper to really pay attention when you were talking about it.”

“Oh,” Clarke shrugs. “It’s with the Arkadian Modern Art Museum, but everyone is applying for it so it’s a long shot.”

“I bet you’ll get it.” Clarke shakes her head. “When would it be, anyway?”

“Next semester.” Bellamy nods. “I mean, I won’t get it, but if I did,” she asks, “that wouldn’t be a problem, right?”

He blinks at her trying to make sense of her words. Is she clearing it with him? Why would she think she has to—

Oh. The contract. Any change in availability needs to be discussed ahead of time. Written in black and white and circled on Clarke’s copy because she had questions about it.

“Of course, not. I think it’s a great opportunity for you.”

Clarke grins at him and continues talking about it. The internship is clearly a bigger deal than she wanted to let on, and she really wants it.

As they go through dinner, his mind keeps drifting back to the contract. It’s frustrating that he can’t stop thinking about it. After all, he’s at a lovely dinner with Clarke, who he adores, and is happier than he’s been in at least a decade. Yet he keeps coming back to their contract.

Could they tear it up? He would have to talk to Murphy about it to see how that complicates things, but he thinks they can. And then they would be… what? Together? Is that what Bellamy wants? He tries to think about what would change between them if the arrangement ended and a relationship began, but he can’t think of anything except the direct deposits into her bank account.

They’d grow closer. Clarke might tell him more about her life, and Bellamy would feel more comfortable letting her into his messy past. More dates like these, but sporadic since his work schedule is so insane. He’ll meet her mother. And her friend Raven.

Bellamy should stop thinking about it. At the very least until he figures out if that’s something Clarke wants too, which she might not.

But he can’t stop thinking about it. Not when he’s on a date with her and has seen how easy it was to be her boyfriend for a few days. Bellamy’s seen what it could be, and he can’t unsee it.

When the dessert menu comes, Clarke’s eyes light up. He knows she’s ordering the red velvet cake before she even says it. It’s her favorite, and that was a major consideration when choosing where to take her tonight. The two of them finish off another bottle of champagne when their desserts arrive. Clarke hums happily as she takes the first bite.

Bellamy doesn’t notice how giggly Clarke has gotten until the check arrives and he realizes how much the two of them actually drank tonight. He mostly attributes it to Clarke until he stands up and realizes he might be a little bit drunk. Bellamy isn’t a small guy. Unlike Clarke, it takes a lot to get him drunk.

Luckily, he can still walk straight. A blessing since Clarke is leaning heavily into him as they make their way outside to wait for their Uber and everything outside seems more blurry than when he entered the restaurant.

Bellamy leans against the cold wall, and Clarke stays pressed against him, shivering slightly in the night chill. Her warm breath feels so good against his neck as they stand together like that.

“Daddy,” she whispers into his skin. His grip tightens around her waist. That word is overwhelming normally. Throw in the buzzing in his veins and how dangerously close to falling for this girl he is, and he nearly loses it just from hearing it. “Do I get another present tonight?”

He chuckles quietly. “Baby, I already gave you all of them,” he tells her.

“But you said I could have whatever I wanted tonight, and I want just one more,” she whines. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees their Uber stuck at a red light, just seconds from pulling up.

“What do you want?”

Her lips graze their way up his neck as she stands up on her tiptoes. When they’re resting right over his ear, she murmurs, “Your cock.”

Bellamy is about to turn to kiss her when the car pulls up. They’ll behave for a few minutes and can pick this conversation up back home.

Except Clarke doesn’t behave. She’s subtle, sure. Their driver has no idea Clarke keeps clumsily running her hand over the growing bulge in his pants. Or that her lips keep kissing his neck. Bellamy hopes the driver doesn’t hear her when her lips hover over his ear and she whispers, “Daddy, I forgot to put on panties tonight.”

If he were more responsible, he would make her stop. But he lets himself blame the alcohol as Clarke strokes him through his pants, only truly comprehending the consequences when it’s time to get out of the car.

Bellamy makes Clarke walk in front of him as they pass the doorman, who averts his gaze with an amused expression on his face. It’s not until they get into the elevator and he sees his reflection that he understands why. Clarke’s red lipstick left marks up and down his neck.

When the elevator doors shut, Bellamy presses Clarke against the mirrored wall and slams his lips into hers. He keeps his arm braced on the wall beside her, not trusting himself to touch her when he’s like this. If he’s not careful, his fingers will end up inside her while the elevator camera catches it all.

“You made a mess, baby,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to show his lipstick covered neck.

The corners of her mouth turn up as she says, “I’m sorry, Daddy.” She’s not sorry. Just like she’s not sorry that she got him hard in the Uber. He suspects that she likes marking him up to let the world know that he’s hers.

She has the audacity to begin undoing the buttons of his shirt, and he doesn’t even try to stop her. When the doors open, Bellamy drags her out of the elevator and pushes her up against the nearest wall. He has to know if she was telling the truth about not wearing panties, so he tugs her dress up roughly. His hand lands between her legs, and there is no fabric separating his hand and her wet cunt.

He curses under his breath and lets his head fall to her shoulder. All night, she sat across from him batting her eyelashes innocently and flirting sweetly. Thank God he didn’t know she wasn’t wearing panties while they were at dinner. It would have driven him insane.

“Do I get my present now?” she whines.

“Not yet.” He begins circling her clit. “You’re not ready for it.”

“But I want it, Daddy.” His eyes meet hers. Clarke has never been quite this bratty before, and he’s not prepared for it. Before he can start thinking of punishments, she pouts and adds, “It’s my birthday.” Her eyelashes bat furiously at him, desperate to get what she wants. She’s right, though. It is her birthday. He won’t spank her tonight, but she is testing him.

“Soon,” he promises. Bellamy kisses her before she can pout anymore.

It’s a sloppy kiss. Both of them are a little too greedy for it to not be. Plus, Bellamy is busy rubbing her clit and Clarke is busy trying to push his jacket off him. He stops touching her for only a second so she can get his sleeve off, but as soon as his jacket hits the hardwood, he’s pushing two fingers inside of her.

Her arm wraps around his neck, more to hold herself upright than anything. Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair, giving him a sharp tug when he crooks his fingers inside her. It feels so good that he groans into her mouth.

She’s never like this. Yeah, she’ll cling to him and pull his hair a little, but never this desperately. Clarke tugs and pulls at him, greedily keeping him as close as possible. Her nails dig into his skin when a third finger presses inside her. Bellamy imagines she won’t stop clawing at him until she gets what she really wants.

“Baby,” he whispers as he feels her cunt flutter around his fingers. “This what you been wanting all night?”

“No,” she whimpers shakily. “I want… I want…”

Clarke never manages to get the rest of it out. With a little added pressure on her clit, she’s pushed over the edge. Her nails dig back into his skin and a whole slew of whimpers and moans come falling off her lips. Bellamy rubs her gently until the whimpering stops, then brings his fingers up to his lips to lick them clean. Clarke watches with a dazed, hungry look in her eyes.

“Was that the present my little princess wanted?” Bellamy asks as he undoes the rest of the buttons on his shirt. Her eyes, still a bit glazed over, watch each one come loose as if she didn’t want to miss a thing. “Or do you want something else?”

She nods weakly.

“None of that,” he says. “You have to tell Daddy what you want.”

He leans closer, pressing his weight against her. By her sharp exhale, he knows she can feel his erection against her stomach.

“I want to get fucked, Daddy,” Clarke whispers.

“Yeah?”

Her already pink cheeks turn a shade darker, and her blue eyes struggle to meet his gaze. When they finally do, she murmurs, “Rough. I want it rough, Daddy.”

Bellamy and Clarke don’t do much rough. He’s gentle with her unless she’s getting a spanking. And as soon as that’s over, it’s sweet and gentle fucking. Treating her like the princess that she is.

But the word _rough_ courses through him immediately, setting every inch of his body aflame with a hunger he had no idea that he had. Bellamy turns her around so her chest is against the wall, and his clumsy fingers desperately tug at the zipper of her dress.

“You want Daddy to be rough with you?” he growls. The only thing keeping him from tearing this dress off her is how much Clarke loves it. He grunts and groans in frustration until the zipper finally cooperates, then he’s pulling the dress down until it pools around her feet.

His hands seize her sides, her ass… anything he can get his hands on. Clarke squirms a little, but whether that’s because she’s horny or because she’s trying to subtly kick off her heels, he’s unsure. When he hears the second shoe clunk onto the ground, Bellamy pushes his weight into Clarke, trapping her against the wall. Clarke has to get on her tiptoes for his erection to press right into her ass.

“This is what you did to me, baby. Got me all hard in the car,” he whispers right into her ear. When she whimpers, he pulls her hair until her face is far enough off the wall for him to look at her. “Do you think you can take all of it?”

Clarke bites down on her bottom lip, suppressing a smile. Bellamy pulls her off the wall, picks her up, and throws her over his shoulder. She giggles and squirms as he carries her to their room. Bellamy drops her on the bed, the dark sheets a sharp contrast to her soft, pale skin, and he has to stop to look at her. To really look at her.

Her perfectly curled hair is a mess now, so tangled that it’ll hurt to brush through. The dark red lipstick is almost completely smeared off her lips, most of it landing on his neck, he’s pretty sure. Her whole body is flushed pink, a bit splotchy on her neck and chest. Clarke Griffin looks like a total mess. But he can’t look away. Bellamy’s never seen such a beautiful mess. Certainly not with the bright, giddy smile that Clarke beams up at him with.

Getting out of his own clothes is a clumsy endeavor. His shoes won’t kick off like normal, his hands fumble with the button of his pants. It’s the least sexy undressing he could manage, but Clarke still beams at him as though he had hung the moon.

Would it be like this if the contract were gone? Would Clarke smile at him like this all the time? Those baby blues peering up at him as if he were everything, happy giggles just because she’s with him, taking her anywhere with a beautiful view just so he can watch her get lost in it…

Bellamy flips her onto her stomach, not sure he could commit to being rough with her beaming at him like that. She wants a rough, hard fuck, and he always gives his baby what she wants. Clarke pushes herself up onto her elbows, wiggling her ass as she waits for him to enter her. He squeezes and pulls at her pale, round ass, imagining what kind of bruises he could leave on her.

“Daddy,” she whines.

“You need it?” he grunts.

“Uh huh.”

The first press inside her is so beautifully tight. Her cunt squeezes his cock like a tight glove. Bellamy isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to how heavenly it is inside Clarke. A hunger takes over, driving him to pull at her hair and slam his hips into hers. Sounds fall off his lips that don’t even sound human. But Clarke greedily takes all of it, whimpering and moaning and crying for her daddy as he fucks her.

His teeth find her throat and ear and shoulder. His hand settles on her neck, letting him feel every moan rise up through her throat long before his ears could make them out. Her arms give out and her face falls into the sheets as he fucks her. Bellamy barely holds off coming until she does. But as soon as he feels that little flutter of her cunt around him and sees her small hand grip the sheets as if bracing herself, he lets go.

“Oh, baby,” he says, letting his body relax into her back. His mouth finds the back of her neck. “My good girl. So good. Fuck. Daddy loves you, baby. That’s it.” The words flood out of his mouth, slurred and dripping with sleepiness between his kisses to her shoulder blade. “My sweet baby, fuck.”

He mouths at her back as he slowly comes to. Clarke whines when he slips out of her. Bellamy rolls onto his back and pulls her into his chest where his princess belongs. One hand is in hers, the other is tangled in her hair as Clarke kisses at his collarbone.

Ultimately, it’s Clarke who pulls away to go to the bathroom. Without a word, the two of them get cleaned up and ready for bed. They fall back into bed together, bodies tangled with her leg between his.

“Bellamy,” she mumbles. In her sleepiness, it sounds more like _bell-me_. “Did—did you mean that thing you said?”

“What thing I said?”

“Oh. Never mind.”

Though just moments ago he felt like he could drift right to sleep, Bellamy now finds himself replaying the night over and over, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Clarke is long asleep by the time he decides that it was just a confused, drunken question that was probably about nothing. His head rests against the top of hers and his eyes fall shut. The familiar sound of her breathing and smell of her hair slowly lull him toward unconsciousness.

_Daddy loves you, baby_.

Bellamy’s eyes jerk open.

There is no sleeping after realizing what he said tonight.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't even started writing chapter twelve, so no promises on when that will be up.

_What are Clarke’s weaknesses?_

Too many to count. She’s a perfectionist, which makes her a pain in the ass to work with at times. She’s too introverted. She falters when given any criticism, hence why she could never have made it as an artist. Every decision she makes, she doubts herself.

Clarke flips to the next flashcard, setting that one aside to come back to if she has time. For the last week, she has been pouring over these questions trying to prepare for her interview that was scheduled for Wednesday. Now that she’s had to reschedule for Friday, she’s had two more days to panic about it.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says, peering his head out of the bathroom with the toothbrush still in his mouth. “Go back to sleep.”

She ignores him and mentally starts answering the next question. It’s not her fault that she got strep. Also not her fault that she had to reschedule her interview with the Arkadian Modern Art Museum for when the amoxicillin had been in her system at least a day so she wasn’t contagious. But her stomach is in knots over it anyway, wondering if the interviewer will already be annoyed with her because of the inconvenience.

“Baby,” he tries again.

“You got up at four in the morning to prep for a board meeting last week,” Clarke mumbles, flipping to the back of the card to see the answer she prepared. “This isn’t different.”

“The difference is that I had less than a day to prepare, meanwhile you have been preparing for this interview for more than a week. You’re ready. Get a few more hours of sleep.”

“I’ll sleep after. Take a long nap, I promise.”

“You’re sick.”

“That didn’t stop you last night.”

“I had my tonsils out when I was six. I’m not catching strep. Don’t change the subject.” With a groan, Clarke tosses her notecards back onto the nightstand and lies back in bed.

“Happy?” she huffs. She’s just going to start studying again as soon as he goes back into the bathroom. Clarke curls onto her side and shuts her eyes, waiting for him to go back to getting ready for work. But instead of hearing his feet pad into the bathroom, they move toward her. “Bell.”

“Try again.”

“Daddy.”

“Good girl.” The bed dips, and within seconds, she’s being pulled into him. His lips press into her forehead as his hand slides over her hips. “You’re overthinking it. You’ve done everything you can to be ready.”

Easy for him to say. He hasn’t had to interview for a job in years. Bellamy’s future is set. There’s no pressure on him.

Dragging her thin sleep shorts to the side, his thumb trails over the damp spot of her panties.

“You’re supposed to be getting ready for work.”

“I’m also supposed to take care of my little princess,” he hums, his lips grazing her cheek and chin. She can’t help but grin at the name. “And my princess needs Daddy to help her relax.”

The anxiety, still present in her unsettled stomach, makes her look back toward her abandoned flashcards. But his hot breath on her skin and fingers pulling her panties to the side puts his words back in her mind. She’s already prepared enough. She’s done everything she can.

Besides, she’s sick. And as it turns out, she really likes how Bellamy fusses over her when she’s sick. He took the day off work yesterday, went to the store to get ice cream to ease her sore throat, reminded her to take her medicine, and scratched her back while they watched Moana. Plus, Clarke got a bubble bath.

Yeah, she can go over the cards later. Clarke melts into the mattress, spreading her legs wide so Bellamy can slip two fingers inside her.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. Her eyes fall shut, focusing only on the ebb and flow of his fingers. Part of her wants to ask for his cock, but she knows she shouldn’t. He has to get to work, and they don’t have time for that. And he’d give it to her if she asked. Bellamy would give her just about anything, she’s fairly certain. But she won’t ask right now. He’s got some meeting with Murphy he can’t miss.

Burying her face in the crook of his neck, Clarke whimpers as he pushes a third finger inside. The three fingers are about as thick as his cock but not as long. So close to being what she needs, but not quite.

“I know, princess,” Bellamy says. “I’ll fuck you good and deep tonight after you kill your interview. That’s what you need, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

“You love Daddy’s fingers though, don’t you?”

He says that word more often now. Bellamy loves her painting, loves the cookies she made for him, loves her smile, loves her laugh… But he hasn’t said that thing again.

It was probably a slip of the tongue. He got too into the sex, too into the role of being Daddy. It happens sometimes, she thinks. According to the stuff she’s read online, it does. Bellamy isn’t really in love with Clarke. It’s part of the scene. Daddies love their babies. It’s in his character description to love Clarke. That’s all.

Still, she has to live with the memory of how her heart thudded in the brief moment where it felt real. 

_Maybe it was_.

Clarke pulls back to look at him. At her movement, Bellamy’s gaze flickers up to meet hers, all warm. She would _know_ if he loved her, right? It’s not as though she has anything to compare it to. Clarke imagines it’s like a light snaps on, finally giving you a complete view of what is in front of you. But maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s always a big, confusing mess.

_Does she want it to be real?_

Her stomach twists a little as soon as the question emerges. What does she want? Yes, she has feelings for him far beyond what she is supposed to, but what does that mean? What would real even look like?

“Baby,” he whispers, snapping her back into the moment. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” Clarke mumbles. Bellamy looks as though he doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t push.

His other hand comes into play, putting pressure on her clit as his fingers dive into her. “Oh, princess,” he hums, and he’s so close that she can feel his voice rumbling in his chest. “My good baby, you’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?”

“Uh huh.” Clarke presses her forehead into his chest, focusing entirely on the build. It’s close, so damn close. But not quite.

“Yeah, you are. You’re gonna come for Daddy. Show me how pretty you are when you come.” His fingers crook inside her. Clarke whimpers. “Baby, baby… Come on. Let go for me. I need you to, sweetheart.”

“I know,” she mumbles into his chest, her voice sounding so small. “I’m trying.”

“Shh, let Daddy take over. Just let go.” His lips settle at the top of her head, giving her gentle little kisses in rhythm with how he rubs her clit. “Daddy’s got you.”

The flashcards, the three different interview outfits she has laid out, and the crisp copies of her resume flood out of her mind. Right here with Bellamy, she’s too little for such big scary things. With him, there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing outside this room. Nothing outside this bed. Nothing outside his arms. There is just Bellamy and Clarke. Daddy and his princess.

Clarke squirms against his hand as his fingers fuck her, only aware of the low rumbling of his voice and how he touches her. “Daddy,” she mumbles. The word spills off her lips like a broken record until her body goes still. Clutching him tight, Clarke finally lets go.

She clings to him as she comes down, and his hands gently rub up and down her back. Her eyes fall shut.

“You’re going to do great,” Bellamy whispers as Clarke feels herself shifted onto her back. Blankets tuck around her, lights turn out, a kiss lands on her forehead, and Clarke drifts off to sleep.

An alarm wakes her an hour and a half later. Bellamy must have set it before he left. She picks up her flashcards and takes them into the bathroom as she gets ready.

While she finishes her makeup, she practices her answers in the most confident voice she can muster. Once she’s dressed, she paces while continuing to answer potential interview questions.

Her phone rings, and she can’t help but grin when she sees it’s Bellamy.

“You’re awake, right?” he asks.

“Yes,” she giggles. “And dressed.” Clarke looks at the time. “Shouldn’t you be with Murphy?”

“He’s running over with another client,” Bellamy grumbles. “What time are you leaving?”

“It’s not until eleven thirty. So, I’m thinking I’ll catch the bus at eleven, which will get me there fifteen minutes early.”

“You’re taking the bus?” he asks.

“I take the bus everywhere,” Clarke snorts. His lack of a response makes her a little nervous. “How did you think I was getting to class every day? I don’t have a car.”

“I hadn’t… Well, just use my card to get an Uber.”

“I’ll just take the bus,” she says, laughing. “It’s not a big deal, and it stops right by the museum.”

“Yeah, but I’d feel a lot better if—”

“Fine. I’ll Uber. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got more notecards to get through.”

“Okay, baby. You’ve got this.” Clarke hangs up and goes to the kitchen to make herself some tea. Her throat is a lot better, but it’s gotten irritated with all her practicing. By ten fifteen, she’s sipping tea and running through her checklist.

Then, her phone rings again, this time from a number she doesn’t recognize.

“Hello?”

“Miss Griffin, you have two people wanting to come up to the penthouse.” Oh, it’s the doorman. “Octavia and Ethan Woods. She claims to be Mr. Blake’s sister.”

To be honest, Clarke had forgotten Bellamy even has a sister. Actually, she doesn’t even know what the girl looks like. She’s met everyone else in his life, but maybe he doesn’t want to lie to Octavia.

“Send them up.”

Clarke’s stomach churns as she waits at the elevator for them. She calls Bellamy, but he doesn’t pick up. At least she looks nice to meet his sister.

The elevator doors slide open, and a young woman with long dark hair comes storming out. Her hand is clutched tight around a small, blonde haired boy’s hand.

“Hi, I’m—”

“Why isn’t Bellamy picking up his phone?” Octavia hisses. Ethan, the boy Clarke vaguely remembers that had been adopted by Octavia and her husband, follows behind her glumly as she drags him toward the living room. Clarke has to jog in her heels to keep up with them.

“He’s in a meeting with his lawyer. Did he know you were—”

“The one time I need him, he can’t be bothered to pick up his damn phone,” Octavia grunts. She turns to Ethan and whispers something Clarke can’t hear. After she plants a kiss to his forehead, Ethan flings his backpack onto the leather couch and takes a seat. He has to be six or seven, Clarke guesses.

Clarke tries calling Bellamy again, not sure what she’s supposed to do. But he doesn’t answer.

“He’ll be out of his meeting soon, I’m sure.”

“I don’t have time to wait,” Octavia huffs, now beelining toward Clarke. “You work for him?”

In a very technical way, she guesses she does. But Bellamy would far rather have to deal with a fake girlfriend lie than the alternative.

“I’m his girlfriend.”

This stills Octavia for a moment, and Clarke struggles not to squirm as the girl looks her up and down. She has Bellamy’s eyes. And a jawline about as pronounced as his. But that’s all the resemblance Clarke can make out beneath the dark eye makeup and excessive black clothing.

“Huh. Thought he was still with Echo.” Hearing that woman’s name makes her stomach clench, but Clarke keeps her face neutral. Now isn’t the time to get jealous again. “Okay, I need you to watch Ethan until Bellamy gets here.”

“What?” Clarke’s eyes flicker over to the boy, who looks sullen and uncomfortable. “No, I have to—”

“Lincoln is in surgery!” Octavia snaps, her voice so sharp that Clarke’s body goes rigid. “One of his patients in the psych ward stabbed him, and I’ve got to get back to the hospital before—”

“Okay, okay,” Clarke stutters out, feeling wildly uncomfortable at the sight of Octavia’s tears.

“His homework is in his bag. I didn’t have time to pack a lunch, but—”

“We have plenty of food here,” Clarke says, forcing her voice to be calm.

Octavia blinks a few times, and next thing Clarke knows, the girl is pulling her in for a hug. “Ethan, be good for… Uncle Bellamy’s girlfriend,” she says as she runs back to the elevator, only now seeming to realize that she never got Clarke’s name but in too much of a rush to ask for it now.

Heart pounding, Clarke looks over at Ethan. He’s seated rigidly on the couch, his eyes taking in his surroundings.

“Hi, Ethan,” she says. “I’m Clarke.” He just nods. His silence makes her uncomfortable, especially since she’s never really been around kids before. She doesn’t know how to talk to them. “Lincoln is going to be okay.” He nods again. “Are you hungry?” He shakes his head. “Do you want to watch something on TV?”

“Mom doesn’t let me watch TV.” Clarke looks frantically around the apartment for something kid friendly, but there is nothing. No toys. No games.

To her relief, he pulls a book out of his backpack and starts reading. Clarke dials Bellamy again. Keeps doing it over and over again as she watches the clock approach eleven. She’s going to miss her interview.

No, she’ll call them and ask to reschedule. Surely, they can understand that it’s an emergency. When she calls, Anya picks up.

“Hi, this is Clarke Griffin. I was wondering if I could reschedule my interview. There’s been a family emergency, but I will be free in a few hours at minimum. I’m so sorry, but I have to—”

“Miss Griffin, let me stop you,” Anya says. “I’m very sorry that there has been an emergency, but we needed to have our decision made yesterday. We extended the deadline for you once already because we found your resume rather impressive, but frankly, it’s not a promising sign that you had to reschedule twice now.”

“I know, but—”

“We have interviewed several excellent candidates who managed to show up when they said they would, and our decision is pretty much made. Thank you for your interest, and we encourage you to apply for the summer internship.”

Clarke stands there motionless, heart thumping and stomach churning, as she tries to choke out a courteous response. She must say something, because Anya says, “Thank you for understanding. Have a good day.”

Her hand shakes as she sets her phone down. She isn’t getting the internship. She had a chance, but it’s not going to happen now.

“Was that my mom?” Ethan asks.

“No, sorry,” Clarke says. His hopeful eyes sink, and he turns his attention back to his book. When she walks toward him, she sees that he’s still on the first page. “How is your book?”

“Okay,” he shrugs. It doesn’t seem like he’s making it past the first line, just reading it over and over again. The poor kid is probably too distracted by what’s happening to his dad to focus. Clarke’s heartbreak over a job seems stupid in comparison.

She knows all too well what it’s like to wait on news like this. The panic in her stomach from those days waiting at the hospital is burned into her memory. And Clarke was so much older and knew to keep herself distracted. She understood what was happening. Ethan doesn’t. All he knows is that his dad isn’t okay.

“Where is your bathroom?” he asks.

“I’ll show you.” As they walk, Clarke can’t help but wonder why Ethan doesn’t know where the bathroom is. With how close Octavia and Bellamy are, he should be over here all the time. And Bellamy should have things that Ethan likes to do to keep the poor kid entertained.

Are Octavia and Bellamy close? She didn’t know that he stopped dating Echo.

“Ethan, what do you normally do when you come over?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been here, but Mom says I did once when I was little.”

Clarke gestures to the bathroom door, but before Ethan goes in, she asks, “So, what do you and Uncle Bellamy do when he comes over to your house?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really remember him.”

Her mind flashes back to the day she met Bellamy. She had read all about his life story before meeting him, but she still found herself entranced as he told her. Poor growing up, mom died too young, Bellamy raised Octavia. But nothing he said about Octavia was recent. The few times he’s mentioned her, it’s always old stories from their childhood.

They aren’t close. Not even remotely. There’s something wrong here. It’s not like Bellamy would ever push Octavia away, so it must have been the other way around. Why hasn’t he told Clarke about it?

Without a word, Ethan goes back to the living room, sinks into the couch, and opens his book again. He finally turns the page, but Clarke doubts he’s retained anything from the first one. Reading is too passive, too easy to let the mind wander. He needs a better distraction. Too bad there is nothing in this apartment that will keep a small boy entertained unless he suddenly developed an interest in Greek mythology.

Wait, that might not be true. Clarke jogs down the hall and swings open her studio door. Paint is scattered everywhere, and she never bothered to put her paint brushes up. But that’s a task for a different day. Or until Bellamy gets worked up about the mess and cleans it for her.

Clarke pulls out the tub of colored pencils and grabs a stack of paper. “Ethan, do you want to draw?” she asks as she sets it all down on the kitchen table.

“No thanks,” he mumbles, not even looking up.

Defeated, Clarke falls into a chair at the table. If only she knew this kid better. Or was better with kids in general. In the silence, there’s nothing to distract her from not getting the internship. So, despite Ethan not joining her, Clarke finds herself diving into the paper. She has to grab scissors from Bellamy’s office to cut the sheet into a square, but the rest of it is pretty easy. Her parents had sent her to an art camp when she was about Ethan’s age, and her favorite part was origami. She made so many cranes that she can make one to this day without even really thinking about it.

In a matter of minutes, there’s half a dozen origami creatures littered across the kitchen table. The most recent addition is a frog that you can press down on the back of to make it jump. Clarke can’t help but giggle when she tests out the jump, still as easily entertained as she was when she was six.

“What is that?” Ethan asks.

Clarke looks up. The book has been discarded on the couch and Ethan has come over to see what Clarke has been up to. “It’s a frog.” She makes it jump again. Ethan’s eyes go wide.

“Can I make one?”

“Of course!”

Clarke gets two pieces of paper ready and slowly shows him how to do it. There are only a few times she has to fix the folds, which is impressive considering how young Ethan is. But then, he starts spewing out facts about tree frogs, and Clarke is no longer surprised. He’s a smart kid. Really smart, actually.

“They have red eyes, you know,” he tells her. “I’m going to give mine red eyes. Is yours a tree frog?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll make mine rainbow.”

“Frogs aren’t rainbow!” Ethan tells her as he finishes the final fold. Clarke pushes the back of his frog down and releases it, making it jump two inches in the air. “Let me try! Let me try!”

He giggles victoriously when he makes it jump, the sound so pure and happy. Clarke can’t stop smiling.

“Let’s have a competition,” he announces when he has made his frog jump four times in a row. “We’ll both make our frogs jump, and whoever is the highest wins.”

“I thought you wanted to make him a tree frog,” Clarke laughs.

“Oh yeah.” Ethan digs into the tub of colored pencils and pulls out a red one.

Her phone rings, and to her relief, it’s Bellamy. “Hey.”

“Clarke, I am so sorry,” he pants. “I just got out of my meeting. My phone was on silent, and I had no idea—”

“It’s okay,” she tells him. “Ethan and I are having a good time. He’s teaching me about frogs.”

“Tree frogs!” Ethan corrects.

“Tree frogs,” Clarke giggles into the phone.

“Okay, okay. Look, I’m going to the hospital to check on O. Are you going to be okay for a bit longer? I could—”

“We’re doing okay. Go be with your sister.”

“God, you’re an angel. Seriously, what would I do without you?”

“Spend less money on grilled cheese ingredients,” she teases. “Go.”

“Okay. Love you, bye!”

Though the line goes dead, Clarke holds the phone several beats longer. Surely, she’s hearing things. Bellamy didn’t just… and even if he did…

Slip of the tongue. Just like last time.

“Was that Uncle Bellamy?” Ethan asks, snapping Clarke out of it.

“Yeah. He’s going to go check up on your dad, and then he’ll be right over.” Ethan doesn’t say anything. “Is that okay?”

“You’re going to stay, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Good.” Ethan drops the red colored pencil and goes to grab a green one. “Maybe we can make Uncle Bellamy a frog too.”

“That’s a great idea. I bet he’d like a tree frog just like yours.” Ethan nods excitedly as he makes jagged lime green lines across the frog’s face.

_Love you, bye!_

_Daddy loves you, baby._

Clarke colors her frog, trying to ignore those two sentences echoing in her thoughts. Maybe he does mean it. He obviously didn’t intend to say it. There would probably be a long conversation if he did, maybe even putting together a new contract to account for this complication. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t mean it.

It feels like he means it. All the interview practice he gave her this week, taking care of her while she was sick, making her go back to sleep so she didn’t overwork herself…

Maybe he loves her.

And maybe she loves him too.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not technically tuesday here but tomorrow is crazy so i'll go ahead and post now and we'll call it tuesday. cool? cool.

“In the market for a new car?” Bellamy jumps. He had been too lost in his search to hear Murphy’s door open. When he turns, however, it’s not Murphy hovering over his shoulder. It’s Roan. “Bit of a chick car, though. Wonder who it might be for.”

Bellamy hasn’t seen Roan since the night of the fundraiser, and his grin is just as cheeky and sly as it had been that night. It’s hard to take it as friendly when Roan has quite literally told him that he’d happily take Clarke off his hands whenever Bellamy was “done with her.” Thus, what used to be a friendly albeit superficial friendship has been drowned in disgust and irrational jealousy.

“Didn’t know Murphy represents you,” Bellamy mutters, tucking his phone away.

“My lawyer has gotten into a bit of trouble,” Roan laughs. “And you had recommended John to me.”

Bellamy had forgotten about that. “Well, he’s good.”

He stands to move toward Murphy’s office, but he stops when Roan asks, “How is Clarke doing?”

“Good.” He turns to face him.

“Just good? I’d imagine she’s fantastic.” Bellamy clenches his jaw.

“Are you two done gossiping?” Murphy shouts from his office.

“Good to see you,” Bellamy huffs before storming into Murphy’s office. The door gives a satisfying click, and Bellamy lets out a breath. “What did he want?”

“You know I can’t tell you that,” Murphy snorts. His desk is a mess, as always. More folders than he can count, pens scattered all around seeming to be everywhere except the cup specifically designed to hold them. “Also, when did you two start fighting?”

“We’re not fighting,” Bellamy snaps.

“Yes, because that totally looked friendly.” Murphy gestures to his lobby with a smirk. “So, what do you want?”

“I need to talk about my contract with Clarke.” Murphy groans. “What?”

“Fine, fine. I get paid by the hour, and if you really want to fork out that kind of money to talk about your contractual love life…”

“I don’t pay you to judge me.”

“Then, find another lawyer you feel comfortable knowing about you being a daddy,” Murphy suggests, raising one eyebrow. Bellamy curses under his breath. “So, what is it? She asking for more money?”

“No. Nothing like that.” He assumes this would remove Murphy’s annoyed expression, but it only makes the crease between his brows grow stronger. “I want to understand how things change legally if she and I were to become more serious.”

After two seconds of painful silence, Murphy starts laughing.

“What?” he snaps.

“You’re paying me four hundred dollars to give you relationship advice, you dumbass. Have you even talked to her about it?”

“No, but—” He’s cut off by Murphy banging his head into his desk. “Hey, I’m being serious, dick. This isn’t an easy thing to navigate. I don’t want her to go back to working a few jobs just to pay for school so that we can tear up the contract. I’d like to keep taking care of her, but… I don’t know if she would go for that without a contract. I need to know what our options are before I bring this up to her.”

“Jesus Christ,” Murphy mutters as he continues hitting his head.

“If you’re going to be a jackass, I’ll just leave.”

“I’ll still bill you for the full hour, so sit back down,” Murphy laughs. He doesn’t care about the money, but he sits down anyway. With a sigh, Murphy sits upright again and looks Bellamy in the eye. “You want to know what changes? Literally nothing.” Bellamy opens his mouth to protest but Murphy holds up his hand to stop him. “That contract hasn’t been relevant since the first weekend Clarke stayed with you. Honestly, I feel like an idiot for putting the thing together after you picked her. It was a waste of my time.”

“What are you going on about?” Bellamy huffs.

“When we put together this contract, you wanted a warm body. A pretty girl to fuck and who would call you Daddy, and in exchange you’d pay her. Nothing else. No strings. No feelings. Look me in the eye and tell me that Clarke ever once fit that description.”

He can’t. Clarke didn’t even fit that description during their first meeting. She made him laugh. Her smile, though nervous, was bright and beautiful. And when she got up to leave, panic coursed through him that he might never see her again. Bellamy had to have her, had to get her yes right away.

“Yes, you two have a contract. But that contract was always meant for some meaningless girl, not for someone you actually care about. Thus, it was moot from the beginning.”

Bellamy lets out a sigh and falls back into the plush leather chair. “What am I supposed to do, though?”

“I can’t really help you here. Can’t really draft up an agreement when one of the two parties is completely in the dark, now can I?”

“You’re saying I have to talk to her about it.”

“Ding ding ding,” Murphy chuckles. “And to think, it would have been a lot cheaper to talk to me about this over drinks. But I have been looking at a new stereo for my car.”

So, there it is. And he had always known deep down that this would be Murphy’s response, though he hates to hear it. Bellamy has to talk to Clarke. Has to figure out if he really meant it when he said he loves her, has to discern if there is any way Clarke feels the same way.

And then, they have to have the awkward conversation. Money. At least with the contract, it was easy. Ideally, Clarke would keep living with him and let him pay for everything, but she might have issue with it if they were actually together. Hell, it took arguing just to convince her to take an Uber instead of the bus. Bellamy can’t imagine what Clarke would say if she found out he’s car shopping for her and wants to pay her next semester’s tuition in full.

“As your friend, however, I do have to ask you one really shitty question.”

“Just one?” Bellamy snorts.

“You sure she isn’t just using you?” Murphy asks.

“Yes.” He doesn’t even take a second to reply. It’s the one thing he’s very sure of.

The two of them stop speaking, but he makes no move to leave. Sure, there are probably a dozen other things he could spend the remainder of this hour taking care of to make it worth the trouble of coming down here, but Bellamy needs time to think.

On one hand, it all seems very simple. On the other, Bellamy remembers what it’s like to be broke like Clarke all too well. Had the roles been reversed, he’s not sure he could accept just letting his girlfriend pay for everything without him doing anything to earn it.

Eventually, Murphy mutters, “You sit there five minutes longer and you’ll be billed for another hour.”

Frustrated, Bellamy pushes up and walks out. His hand wraps around his phone while he is fishing around for his keys, and the first thing he notices is that his phone is almost dead. The why becomes clear as soon as he sees thirty missed calls and half as many text messages. His heart pounds when he sees the two callers are Octavia and Clarke.

_I swear to God,_ Octavia hisses in her most recent voicemail, _if you don’t answer your goddamn phone… _She hangs up. Most of the voicemails are like that. It takes him several to figure out what the hell is going on.

_Your office says you’re not in. Jasper doesn’t know where you are. You’re not picking up. Look, I’m going to your apartment. You better fucking be there. I can’t… _Her voice breaks slightly. _I need you, Bell. _

Clarke doesn’t leave any voicemails. Instead, she sent him a text:

_Octavia dropped Ethan off at the apartment. Her husband (I think?) is in surgery. Didn’t get many specifics, but I think she said he was stabbed. She wanted you to watch Ethan while she’s at the hospital, but she left him with me since you weren’t here. _

Lincoln had been stabbed. Bellamy has kept a close enough watch on them to know that he’s gotten injured a few times at work. Last year, one of his psych patients strangled him. He wouldn’t be surprised if this was similar.

Octavia must be losing her mind. Lincoln is everything to her, the only person she really cares about aside from Ethan. Bellamy calls her back, but she doesn’t answer. He calls Clarke next.

“Hey,” she says, pleasantly calm compared to his sister’s panicked voice from the voicemails.

“Clarke, I’m so sorry,” he tells her. “I just got out of my meeting. My phone was on silent, and I had no idea—”

“It’s okay! Ethan and I are having a good time. He’s teaching me about frogs.”

“Tree frogs!” he hears Ethan shout in the background.

“Tree frogs,” Clarke giggles. Despite the situation, Bellamy’s lips turn up. They’re fine. Clarke and Ethan are fine, so he can turn his attention to Octavia.

“Okay, okay. Look, I’m going to the hospital to check on O. Are you going to be okay for a bit longer? I could—”

“We’re doing okay. Go be with your sister.” Relief washes over him. Of course, she understands. It’s Clarke.

“God, you’re an angel,” he breathes. “Seriously, what would I do without you?”

“Spend less money on grilled cheese ingredients. Go!”

“Okay,” he laughs. “Love you, bye!”

Once he’s in his car, he speeds toward Arkadian Memorial. Though he has had his issues with Lincoln in the past, the two of them are friendly now. Far friendlier than he’s been with Octavia, that’s for certain. The idea of something happening to him… well, it’s just unthinkable. The one solace he has had with Octavia cutting him out of her life is that she has Lincoln taking care of her.

Nervousness sets in as he valets his car. Bellamy can’t remember the last time he was in the same room as Octavia. All he remembers is that it didn’t go well.

She’s not hard to locate in the waiting room. Her back is against a wall, her legs bouncing up and down as she stares at the status board. L. Woods is still listed as in surgery.

“Octavia,” Bellamy says, and her dark eyes finally leave the screen. “I came as soon as I heard. I’m so sorry. I was in a meeting with my phone on silent and I—”

“What are you doing here?” Octavia snaps. Bellamy stares at her, jaw slack as he tries to figure out if the answer is really not obvious to her. “You’re supposed to be watching Ethan.”

“Clarke has that covered. I thought you might—”

“Your Echo rebound?” Octavia snorts. In an instant, he remembers why his fights with Octavia always turned so vicious. She has this uncanny gift to pluck at any chord that might hurt. His fist ball up as he tries to stay calm. Nothing good ever came from losing his temper with Octavia. “Yeah, no offense, but I wanted _you_ to watch him, not your newest trophy girlfriend.”

“Then, you shouldn’t have just pawned him off on her,” Bellamy says, a slight edge to his voice.

“Are you really yelling at me right now? Lincoln might be dying,” she hisses.

“I came down here because I was worried about you. And Lincoln. I thought you might need someone to—”

“I don’t need you!”

How many times has that exact sentence been screamed at him by her? Bellamy has lost count. His therapist says it’s not about him. It’s about her and this violent need she has to not need him. Perhaps he represents a vulnerable time in her life and she doesn’t like to think of herself as vulnerable. Maybe she’s terrified of being weak and striking at someone who won’t strike back is a quick way to disavow herself of that notion. Or maybe, as Bellamy has always feared, Octavia really believes that she is better off without him. Perhaps she is.

Bellamy doesn’t say a word. Just turns and leaves. He waits until the valet brings the car around and he’s securely inside before he lets out a scream. Every swear he can think of comes out of his mouth as he drives home. He has to sit in the parking garage for a few minutes so that he can calm down. He doesn’t want Clarke to see him like this, and he definitely doesn’t want Ethan to.

His heart is still pounding as he rides up to the penthouse, but outwardly, he looks perfectly fine.

“And what’s that one’s name?” he hears Clarke ask. Bellamy turns the corner to see Clarke and Ethan lying on their stomachs on the rug with at least thirty misshapen pieces of paper around them.

“Artemis,” Ethan says. Bellamy swallows. Artemis was always Octavia’s favorite. “Wait, no. I didn’t make Artemis a tree frog. That one doesn’t have a name yet.”

As he approaches, he sees that the misshapen pieces of paper are actually folded to resemble frogs. Half of them have been decorated with colored pencils.

“What about Clarke?” she asks with a laugh.

“No,” Ethan huffs. “That one can be Clarke.” He points to a tipped over one in the corner that he clearly made instead of Clarke, if the disfigured appearance is anything to go by. “This one is Hercules.” Ethan sets it on the ground, presses down, and when he releases, the origami frog springs into the air.

“That was a good one!”

“Okay, Hercules is mine!” Clarke giggles as Ethan puts Hercules into the lineup of what must be his frogs.

Last time he saw Ethan in person, he was just a toddler. But now, he’s so tall and speaks in full sentences. And he knows mythology, which can only mean that Octavia has passed down the stories Bellamy told to her. At least some part of him exists in Octavia’s new family.

Clarke spots him and grins. “Uncle Bellamy is here,” she tells Ethan, and he rolls onto his back to look at Bellamy.

“Hey!” Bellamy says as he approaches them, tucking his hands into his pockets so neither of them see how shaky they are. Ethan blinks up at him, surveying him skeptically. “What is all this?”

Ethan looks to Clarke. “We, uh, made some origami frogs today,” Clarke says. “Ethan, why don’t you show Bellamy?” Ethan looks at Bellamy again, then turns back to Hercules. He makes him jump again.

“Woah,” Bellamy says.

“That wasn’t even a good jump,” Ethan tells him. “I can do better.” Bellamy plops down on the ground, watching as Ethan takes a few more stabs at it. Finally, he seems satisfied with the fourth or fifth jump.

“That’s awesome,” Bellamy says, and Ethan beams.

He ends up lying on the floor too as Ethan shows him every single frog he and Clarke made, each accompanied by a demonstration of the individual frog’s jumping ability. When he gets to the end after twenty long minutes, Clarke coughs. At first, Bellamy checks his watch to make sure she hasn’t missed a dose of her antibiotics, but when he sees her raise her eyebrows at Ethan, he realizes it’s not a symptom but a signal. Bellamy pretends not to notice how Clarke’s eyes dart to her right and then back to Ethan.

“Oh!” Ethan says before scrambling to his feet. Bellamy shoots Clarke a confused look, but she just laughs. When he looks up again, Ethan has retrieved another frog from the table and is holding it out to Bellamy.

“What’s this?”

“A tree frog. You can tell by the eyes,” Ethan says. Clarke coughs again. “Oh, it’s your tree frog.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “You made this for me?” he asks.

“His name is Augustus.” Bellamy’s eyes flicker over to Clarke. “But you can change the name if you don’t like that one.”

“No, I love it.” Ethan shrugs and plops back down on the ground. Clarke averts her gaze, but he reaches over to squeeze her shoulder anyway.

The two of them resume whatever game they’re playing with them. Bellamy can’t keep up with the rules, and neither, it seems, can Clarke. He watches for a while, only looking away to admire the frog his nephew made him.

Even as Ethan warms up to Bellamy, that’s nothing compared to how he is with Clarke. He adores her. She has him laughing constantly and humors him for every ridiculous rule change. When it’s Clarke’s “turn”, Ethan snuggles up to her and rests his head against her shoulder.

She’s good with him. Bellamy had no idea she would be good with kids. But God, she is. He isn’t sure what he would have done if thrown into her position. There’s nothing in this apartment that a kid would have fun with. And Clarke just created the fun out of thin air. She would be one hell of a mom one day.

While they’re lost in their game, Bellamy slips into his room to change. On the bed lies Clarke’s rumpled interview outfit.

She didn’t make it to her interview.

Bellamy had been so caught up in worrying about Lincoln that he had completely forgotten about her interview. “Clarke!” he calls out as he powerwalks into the living room. She probably rescheduled it and it wasn’t a big deal.

She looks up at him over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“What did you do about your interview?” he asks, his chest tense. When her face falters, he has his answer. Fuck.

“I wasn’t going to get it anyway,” Clarke says. “And I’m not sure I even wanted it.”

She’s lying to make him feel better, to take the guilt off him. But he’s not falling for it. Clarke wanted that internship more than anything. She worked her ass off preparing for it. Her resume was flawless, as were her recommendations. It was in her clutches, and she had to let it go.

Ethan looks up, and Clarke casts Bellamy a warning look. He wants to press forward on this, but she’s right. They can’t talk about it in front of Ethan, certainly not with the kind of day he’s having. Bellamy nods to Clarke and turns back to go to his room.

If only he had left Murphy’s office when it was clear nothing was getting done there. Or if he hadn’t turned his phone on silent. Or told Jasper where he would be so Octavia had somewhere other than his apartment to turn up at.

Clarke has to be heartbroken. And though it wasn’t his opportunity, he’s heartbroken too. Clarke doesn’t let herself want many things, no doubt a product of losing so many things all at once. She finally felt safe enough to let herself want something, something she deserved, and she missed her chance because of Bellamy’s messy family.

It’s not something Bellamy can fix, either. He desperately tries to grasp at something he can do as he gets changed, but there’s nothing. Sure, he might be able to pull some strings to find her something else, but Clarke wouldn’t want that. She wants to earn it herself.

When he comes back out, Ethan is hungry for lunch. Clarke informs him that his uncle makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches, which makes him very popular for the five minutes that it takes Ethan to eat it.

The afternoon goes by slowly. Ethan starts his homework and is very excited to find out that Clarke has homework too. The two of them sit side by side at the table working, and Bellamy is all too happy to help Ethan practice for his spelling test while Clarke writes her paper.

The only update he gets from Octavia is when Lincoln gets out of surgery. It goes back to silence after that. When dinner rolls around, his nephew informs him that he doesn’t have any of the good food like chicken nuggets or fish sticks, to which Clarke adds that he has a point. Bellamy orders pizza.

At this point, Bellamy is wondering if he should make a bed up for Ethan. Octavia doesn’t answer when he calls, so he has no indication of how long he and Clarke are taking care of him. And Ethan is starting to get upset.

“Why don’t we watch a movie?” Bellamy asks.

“Mom doesn’t let me watch TV,” Ethan says.

“Your mom isn’t here,” he replies with a grin, and Ethan’s eyes light up. Clarke shoots him a warning look, but he ignores her. A Disney movie isn’t going to destroy the kid, and if Octavia didn’t want them to let Ethan watch a movie, she should have left some instructions before ditching her child at his apartment.

“Hey, Ethan,” Clarke says. “Which frog was your favorite again?”

“Hercules!”

Though she doesn’t look right at Bellamy, he knows exactly how smug she would look if she did. “That’s right. Did you know there’s a Hercules movie?”

“That isn’t accurate,” Bellamy snaps.

“Really?” Ethan asks, eyes wide.

“Or we could watch something else,” Bellamy tries, but Clarke is already heading toward her room to retrieve her copy of the movie. She has been trying for a while now to make him watch it with her, once even refusing to kiss him back until he watched it.

As they’re walking toward the media room, he mutters, “Really low using my nephew against me.”

Ethan hops onto the couch, and Clarke turns to whisper, “Sorry, Daddy.” Before he can respond, she’s skipping off to the couch too. Bellamy gets the movie going, turns off the lights, and joins them on the couch. His nephew sits between them, sitting on the edge of his seat as the opening song begins.

Bellamy tries to watch it, but when he does, all he wants to do is point out the inaccuracies. So instead, he focuses his attention on Ethan and Clarke. She seems to know all the words, sometimes mouthing along without realizing it. Ethan is watching with wide, excited eyes. His giggle echoes through the room, so contagious that Bellamy can’t help but join in. Halfway through, Ethan is too tired to stay at the edge of the couch. He falls back, leaning into Clarke. Both she and Bellamy keep an eye on him, watching amusedly as he struggles to stay awake. She runs her hand up and down his back, slowly lulling him into sleep.

Once he’s out, Bellamy gets up to make a bed for him. Originally, he had a room for Ethan. But it’s Clarke’s studio now since he never imagined Ethan would be here. He goes to the guest bedroom he had set aside for Octavia and Lincoln instead, checking that the sheets are clean and the room is warm enough.

When he returns to the media room, Clarke is holding Ethan a little closer, resting her head on top of his. It’s the sort of image he wishes he could capture and keep forever. All day, she’s been so sweet and patient with him. Hard not to imagine what she would be like with her own kids. With their kids, maybe.

His heart stutters at the thought. _Their_ kids.

Clarke catches him watching her and gives him a puzzled look. “I’ll carry him,” Bellamy whispers. The kid isn’t too heavy. The only hard part is detangling him from Clarke. But Ethan easily melts into Bellamy as he carries him into the other room. Clarke pulls back the comforter and sheets before Bellamy puts him down. Ethan doesn’t stir. He’s down for the count.

Once they’ve tiptoed out of the room and shut the door, Bellamy pulls Clarke into him and plants a kiss on her lips. His hands rest on either side of her face, still holding her close as he pulls back. Her tired eyes meet his, confused. It’s as if she has no idea how precious she is to him.

“Your interview… I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“It happens,” she shrugs.

“It shouldn’t have. I can’t believe she just dropped him off like that.”

“She was panicked. Not thinking straight. I think it’s better that Ethan spent today with us in the calm.”

“But—”

“It’s okay. I’m not upset,” Clarke says.

How many times has Clarke said that in her life? How many times has she been close to what she wants only to have it torn away by circumstance? Is that how she’s handling this so well? Sheer repetition of disappointment?

“We’ll find you something better,” Bellamy promises, but he can tell she doesn’t believe him. He’s not sure he believes him either. The two of them make their way to the living room. He pours them wine while Clarke puts all of Ethan’s frogs into a bag to take home. Neither of them say much. And what is there to say? The damage is done and there’s nothing he can do to fix it.

After half an hour, his phone rings. To his relief, it’s Octavia. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“I’m on my way over to pick up Ethan,” she says.

“How is Lincoln?”

“Good. Stable. I got to talk to him for a few minutes before he fell asleep again. I’ll see him again in the morning.” Clarke must hear their conversation because she beelines for the room where Ethan is fast asleep. “I’m just a block away. Be there in a second.”

The line goes dead, and Bellamy shoots a text to the doorman instructing him to let Octavia up. A sleepy Ethan stumbles into the room, rubbing his eyes irritably. Bellamy packs up his backpack so he’s ready to go.

Though his fight with Octavia was many hours ago, Bellamy’s entire body goes rigid when he hears her scuffling into the living room.

_I don’t need you!_

Yet she did. She needed him to watch her child, to be the responsible adult while she couldn’t think straight. When everything fell apart, she came to Bellamy, who she has cut out of her life and claims to be better off for it.

“Ethan!” Octavia says with a huge smile as she runs up to hug him. Clarke is right behind Ethan, and the two girls exchange an odd look, Clarke far more hostile than he ever remembers seeing her. “Daddy’s going to be just fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, looking around. He turns back to Clarke, whose icy expression melts immediately. “Where are my frogs?”

“Got them right here,” Clarke grins, picking up the bag. “Maybe you can show your dad tomorrow.”

“Good idea,” Octavia chimes in. “Now go give your uncle a hug goodbye.”

Bellamy hands Octavia the backpack and bends down in time for Ethan to give him a hug. His chest tightens. When will he see Ethan again? Will he even remember the fun day he had at his uncle’s? Or will it fade away over the years, leaving Ethan to only vaguely recognize Bellamy?

“Next time, can we finish Hercules?” Ethan asks.

“You let him watch TV?” Octavia snaps, not missing a beat.

“I did,” Clarke says, and his sister’s murderous glare turns back on her. “Perhaps next time you drop your kid off with a stranger, you can leave some instructions.” Her voice is calm and sweet, and she’s forcing a polite smile. But she might as well have slapped Octavia right across the face.

Unlike with Bellamy, Octavia doesn’t say a word. Clarke is too unknown, too quick, too smart. Octavia doesn’t start fights unless she’s certain she can win. Bellamy lets her beat him up, but Clarke won’t. Plus, it’s clear that Ethan adores Clarke by the way he runs from Bellamy to give Clarke a hug goodbye. Octavia can’t pick a fight with someone her son is enamored with, not without coming off as a total asshole.

“Alright, Ethan. Let’s go home.”

Neither Bellamy nor Clarke move until the elevator doors have shut, hiding Ethan’s sleepy waving from view.

“You’re really good with him,” Bellamy says, but Clarke waves that off as she walks toward their bedroom. “You are.”

“He only likes me because of the origami frogs,” she laughs.

Bellamy’s eyes drift to the kitchen table where his frog, Augustus, sits. While Clarke gets ready for bed, he takes the folded paper into his home office and sets it on his desk right beside the only photo Bellamy has of Ethan, a professional one taken at his preschool on picture day.

Clarke is already curled up in bed when he returns, grinning sleepily once Bellamy has brushed his teeth and crawled into bed. She tucks herself into his side, and he kisses the top of her head. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?”

_Everything_. For taking care of Ethan at her own expense. For making a horrible day bearable. For giving Bellamy a good day with his nephew. For being light in an otherwise dark place.

“All of it. I’m going to make it up to you, I swear.”

“It’s not your fault,” she grumbles. “These things happen.”

They shouldn’t. Not to Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update is gonna hurt. i cried the whole time writing it. get ready to be put through the ringer.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe mondays are my new update day. who knows. the next chapter isn't finished, which is really stressful. i'm gonna do my best to have it up next week. 
> 
> anyway, i cried a lot while writing this chapter. and i'm gonna go cry some more.

“Did Raven get a new car?” Marcus asks as he pulls Clarke’s bag out of the trunk.

Clarke bites down on her bottom lip as she looks over the car Bellamy bought her. She can’t exactly admit that it’s hers, not without raising suspicion. After all, how could a broke college student afford a brand-new Volvo? And frankly, it’s hard to believe that it is hers even after a month of driving it. It’s not like the other gifts Bellamy has given her, and this one didn’t even have a reason.

Well, there is a reason. A ridiculous reason. Bellamy doesn’t want her riding the bus.

“I didn’t borrow her car this time,” Clarke says. “This is my boyfriend’s car.”

She regrets the lie as soon as he meets her eyes with an excited smile on his lips. “You have a boyfriend? How long have you—”

“Since August.” Clarke tugs her backpack on and starts walking toward the house. Marcus jogs to catch up with her. “Please, don’t make a big deal about this.”

“Your mom is going to be so excited.”

As if summoned, Abby Griffin swings open the front door. “Hi, Mom,” Clarke says. Marcus shuffles by with her bag while her mom embraces her. The two of them sway as they hug, only breaking apart and going inside when the chill of the December air gets to Abby.

“Did you know Clarke has a boyfriend?” Marcus shouts from halfway up the stairs. The door slams with a loud clang behind them, and her mom stares at her with wide eyes.

“You have a boyfriend?” she asks, grinning. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Clarke shuffles into the kitchen, following the aroma of her mom’s famous spaghetti. She can’t remember the last time her mom cooked for her. When she turns to look at her, to really look at her, she doesn’t seem as exhausted as she had last time Clarke saw her. She looks happy. Maybe Marcus was right after all.

“It’s not serious,” Clarke shrugs. The happy expression melts away so quickly that Clarke’s chest pangs at the sight. “I just… it’s still so new. And it’s been nice keeping it to myself, you know?”

“Right, right.” This is why she hates coming to visit her mom. The two of them can’t pretend that things are normal. Clarke can’t keep her personal life private without her mom taking it personally. “But is he nice? Treats you well?”

“Yeah,” she says, the corners of her mouth turning up. An image of Bellamy massaging her feet last night comes to mind. As does waking up to Bellamy playing with her hair this morning. “He’s… great.”

That seems to placate her. Abby turns back to the stove. Clarke plops down at the kitchen island and picks the carrots off the vegetable plate and eats while her mom talks about her new garden out back. Hard to imagine her mother having the patience to garden, frankly. When Marcus comes back downstairs, he and Abby start telling Clarke all about the show they went to see downtown last week. Clarke talks about her classes while helping set the table, and the three of them catch up over a perfectly normal meal.

Nothing goes wrong. So, why does Clarke feel so off? Her eyes keep darting over to her mother, making observations about how much she’s eating and how her mood doesn’t seem to shift over the meal. When will Clarke stop looking for things to go wrong? Abby is doing well. She’s thriving out here, and she and Marcus are building a good life for themselves. And this is the first time Clarke has ever felt like a normal college student going home for the weekend and having a good visit with her family.

“How is she doing?” Clarke whispers when her mom takes their plates into the kitchen.

“She’s fine,” Marcus says, shrugging it off. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Marcus, but she’s not sure he’s ever seen how good of a liar her mother is. Still, she sees no evidence that she’s hiding anything now.

Once Clarke has caught them up on what has been happening in her classes, she goes up to the guest room, changes into pajamas, and calls Bellamy.

“Hey, baby,” he says. Clarke crawls under the blankets and hugs her pillow tight. “How was dinner?”

“Good. Everything is good.”

“That’s great.” She feels so pathetic for melting at the sound of his voice. She just saw him several hours ago. But fuck, she already misses him. “How are you feeling?”

“Full,” she laughs.

“No, I meant… well, you left your heating pad here. So, I was worried.” Clarke furrows her brows, trying to make sense of—

_Oh_.

She had been so anxious about this visit that she forgot she was supposed to start her period. Actually, now that she thinks of it, it should have started yesterday.

“I’m okay,” she mumbles. No, there’s nothing to worry about. Clarke is on birth control, and there could be a hundred reasons why she’s late. Stress affects the cycle, she’s pretty sure. And between this visit and applying to every internship she can find, Clarke has been stressed. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Missing my princess,” he chuckles. “Got some work to do. Figured I would take advantage of a night without my favorite distraction.”

“Should I let you go, then?”

“No, tell me about dinner.”

After she gives him a play by play of every mundane dinner conversation, they get off the phone. Though she means to get a solid eight hours of sleep, Clarke ends up tossing and turning most of the night, waking up with random reasons why her period might be late or possible places her mom might be hiding a stash that Marcus doesn’t know about.

Dark bags hang under her eyes, so striking that her concealer is powerless to hide them. Her mom jokes about how Clarke shouldn’t have been up so late texting her “boyfriend.” Breakfast is just her and her mom. She still hasn’t started her period when she checks after eating.

The day goes by in a blur. Abby takes her to get her nails done, calls it “her” treat as if Marcus isn’t footing the bill for everything she does. Conversation drags back at the house, what with Abby not having a clue what to ask Clarke about. She asks about Wells, who Clarke hasn’t spoken to in years, her job at Starbucks, which Clarke hasn’t had in months, and the PR minor that Clarke dropped sophomore year. The only subject Abby has any luck in is Raven, the only piece of Clarke’s old life that stuck around after her world blew up.

“Do you like her new boyfriend?” she asks.

“Yeah, Zeke is great. He’s really good for her.” Clarke’s a bit distracted, barely trying to make conversation. Her mind has drifted back to her period. In all her life, she can’t remember a time where she wasn’t regular. A day late at most, but two? Unheard of.

“What’s wrong?”

Now that Clarke thinks about it, this is the one thing her mom could actually help her with. She was a doctor, after all.

“Raven is doing well, right?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “It’s just… well, she’s a little worried right now. Her period’s late.”

The concern washing across Abby’s face makes her stomach tense. “How late?”

“Two days. But she’s on birth control, so she has nothing to worry about, right?”

“People make mistakes. She might have forgotten to take the pill one day, or something.”

“No, she never forgets,” Clarke says, almost snapping. “Sorry, it’s just—”

“It’s scary. I know. It wouldn’t hurt for her to take a test.”

“But does she really need to? If she takes her birth control every day, there’s no way she’s pregnant,” Clarke insists.

“Sweetie, birth control can fail,” she replies. “People get sick and throw up after taking it, reducing its effectiveness. And don’t get me started on antibiotics that can mess it up. Not too long after you were born, I had a scare because I forgot that amoxicillin decreases your level of estrogen.”

_No_.

“You weren’t even eight months old, and I couldn’t fathom having another baby so soon.”

How many times did she and Bellamy have sex while she was on amoxicillin to get rid of her strep?

“It’s funny, actually. I made your dad buy half a dozen pregnancy tests, and…”

Clarke fakes laughs in all the right places, but she doesn’t listen to the story. She’s too busy counting. It was the week Clarke missed her interview to take care of Ethan. Bellamy went down on her the day before, fingered her the next day, but after that, it was all penetrative sex. On the couch, on the kitchen counter, on the floor of her studio, and time after time in their bed. He couldn’t keep his hands off her that week.

Did she not read the side effects of her antibiotics? Surely, this would have been on there. And if Clarke had done her research, she would have known this.

She’s pregnant.

No, Clarke would know if she was pregnant. She doesn’t feel pregnant. And it’s just two days.

Yeah. Two days. She’s not pregnant. So many women are two days late.

But she’s never two days late.

But she’s also under a lot of stress, which could be the cause.

But maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if she were pregnant.

That last thought catches her by surprise. As soon as her mom’s story is over, Clarke heads upstairs to take a nap. But she doesn’t sleep. Too many thoughts flood her mind to let her drift off.

Does she want to be pregnant? Does she want to have Bellamy’s baby? Would he be happy? Does Bellamy want to have a baby with her?

No, she doesn’t want to be pregnant. Not right now. She’s still in school. She’s not even in a real relationship with Bellamy. She’s only twenty-two.

But if she is…. Bellamy would take care of her. Of that she’s sure. He’d be so good to her and the baby. He’d make such a good dad. Clarke remembers how he carried Ethan to bed, the tenderness with which he tucked him in.

But would he want to have a baby? Sure, he likes taking care of Clarke, but he never asked for a baby. Would he resent her? Would he be mad at her? After all, this is completely her fault for not reading the information about her prescription. It’s like she’s trapping him. He doesn’t want her entangled in his life. He didn’t even trust her enough to confess that he’s estranged from his sister.

Tears fall freely into her pillow. One second, she’s fantasizing about a world where she and Bellamy are happily married with a baby on the way. The next, worrying about spending her entire life being resented by Bellamy. She can’t lose Bellamy like that.

A knock on the door jerks her upright. “Clarke,” Marcus calls out. “Your mom and I are going to Mass. Do you want to come?”

Mass? Is her mother Catholic now? Clarke can count on her hand the number of times she’s been in a church in her life, and those were all for funerals. It hasn’t been that long since she last saw her mom. How has so much changed?

“No thank you. I have a paper to write,” she lies. Her eyes fall shut as she listens to Marcus and her mom scuffle about the house until they finally leave. Her phone rings with a text. She knows it’s from Bellamy, but she can’t bring herself to read it right now. What is she supposed to say to him? _Hi, I might be pregnant?_

Clarke jumps out of bed and heads downstairs, trying to ignore the nausea that may or may not be pregnancy related. She doesn’t bother flicking the kitchen light on, just heads straight to the fridge. Inside, there are dozens of Tupperware containers of leftovers, each labeled meticulously in her mother’s handwriting. It’s such a bizarre sight. Not because it’s a new one. No, Clarke has seen this level of Stepford Abby Griffin before. But because she hasn’t seen it since she was in high school.

… since the first time her mother promised to get clean but didn’t.

Clarke spins around and looks at the spotless kitchen. Abby made Clarke’s favorite dinner last night. On the fridge, there’s a calendar with all sorts of social outings that her mother allegedly goes to. She gardens now, for fuck’s sake. Why did it take Clarke so long to see what’s happening?

Marcus doesn’t know her tricks. He doesn’t know how good of a liar she is. What he sees is the woman he loves taking an interest in something other than popping pills, being a good homemaker, going out and making friends… making him blind to her relapse. She’s giving him the Abby he wants, just like she did with Clarke.

First, she storms up to Abby and Marcus’ room. Her dresser has nothing in it, not even her sock drawer. Her bathroom is clean too. Her normal hiding spaces in the closet won’t work because she shares it with him.

Clarke smacks her palm to her forehead, trying to remember her other hiding spots. But this isn’t like all those years ago where she could hide her drugs with her knitting supplies in plain sight. Abby doesn’t pretend to knit anymore.

But she gardens.

Forgetting to grab her coat from her room, Clarke sprints down the stairs and out the back door, shivering in the night air as she darts across Marcus’ well-manicured lawn to the shed. Her body shakes as she rummages through the seed packets and tools, but there’s nothing here.

Could she be wrong?

_Yes_, screams the high school girl who spent her Saturdays going over private college brochures with her smiling mother.

_No_, whispers the woman who sold almost every keepsake from her childhood just to keep the heat on, who broke her back juggling more jobs than she could manage, who spent too many nights sleeping in waiting room chairs hoping that her mom makes it through the night.

At first, she thinks it’s her own tears. But after the second glance, the slight sheen of a plastic Ziploc calls her closer. Hidden inside one of her gardening gloves is a worn bag full of pills.

Something snaps in her. Clarke rummages through everything, leaving no stone unturned. Emptying out seed packets onto the ground just to make sure, throwing tools out of her way, and breaking a clay pot after finding another bag of pills inside it. In the dark, Clarke bumps into everything, hears her jeans tear, feels her skin get nicked, but she doesn’t stop. No, she only ceases her search when the entire shed is in disarray and Clarke has six bags of pills in her hand.

She doesn’t remember walking back into the house, but somehow, she ends up inside the downstairs bathroom. In the mirror, she sees dirt on her cheeks, a cut on her forearm, and skin so pale from being out in the cold. For once, Clarke looks exactly how she feels.

Broken.

There is no feeling when she flushes the first bag. No relief or satisfaction like in the past. She just feels empty. Bag after bag, and still nothing.

A flicker of panic washes through her when she hears their car pull up the driveway. Clarke sprints back up the stairs, pulls out her bag, and begins stuffing everything she brought back inside. The front door opens. Marcus says he’s going to his office. Abby says she forgot to put the hose up and doesn’t want it to freeze overnight. As soon as she hears the backdoor shut, Clarke takes her bags and sprints down the stairs. Her hand is on the door when the backdoor swings open.

“Clarke!” Abby screams. The chill from outside smacks Clarke. Where is her coat? “What did you do?” Her eyes meet Abby’s, though her vision is fuzzy.

“I’m going home,” Clarke whispers, unable to think of anything else to say. She’s tired of this fight. She’s tired of calling her mother an addict and forcing her to get help. She’s tired of taking every horrible thing the drugs make her say like it doesn’t break her heart.

“Don’t tell Marcus.”

“I have to.”

“No!” she yells. “Please. He’s all I have. What do you want?” Her hands take Clarke by the shoulders, shaking her so hard that her bag falls to the ground.

“What about me?” Clarke says so quietly that she barely hears herself.

“What?”

“Marcus is all you have? What about me?” Her voice cracks. Hot tears stream down her cheeks. Her bottom lip quivers as she tries to will herself to say something. Something about how what she really wants is her mom. But she can’t bring herself to say it.

“What’s going on?” Marcus calls out. Horror fills her mother’s eyes.

“Nothing,” Abby snaps, but Marcus is powerwalking over to Clarke. He pries her out of her mother’s grip, eyeing her dirty face and cuts on her arms.

“What happened?” he asks Clarke, panicked.

“I found her pills in the shed,” she chokes out. Marcus lets go to turn and face Abby, and Clarke uses this opportunity to grab her bags and run out the front door. In the distance, she hears Marcus screaming at her to come back, but she keeps on sprinting until she’s at her car. Clarke doesn’t even wait for the window to completely defrost before pulling out of the driveway.

It’s an hour drive home, but she’s hardly aware of the time. Clarke pulls into the parking garage without remembering how exactly she got there. She was speeding, that much is clear by it only taking her forty-five minutes to get home. It was probably the most reckless she’s ever driven, but somehow, she made it out unscathed.

Clarke shivers the whole way to the elevator. Her coat is still sitting on the floor of that guest bedroom. She’ll never go back to get it. Bellamy bought her that coat. She loves that coat.

There’s no one but the elevator cameras to witness her tears over that wool coat. Her gloves were in the pocket too. They were good gloves.

“Clarke?” Bellamy calls out when the elevator doors open. She manages two steps out of it before dropping her bags onto the ground. When she looks up, Bellamy is out of breath and moving toward her. “Fuck, you’re freezing. What happened? Where is your coat?”

“I—I—” Clarke breaks into a sob. Why didn’t she grab her coat? It’s the most beautiful coat she’s ever owned, and now it’s gone.

“Baby,” Bellamy whispers. She’s trapped in his arms, but it feels good. He’s so warm. Did she even turn the heat on in her car?

“I left it,” she whimpers into his shirt. Dirt finds its way onto the soft blue fabric. “I’m sorry.” Clarke isn’t sure if it’s about the coat or messing up his shirt. She always messes everything up.

“That’s okay.” His mouth grazes her skin as he speaks, calming her. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I forgot it.”

“No, sweetheart.” Her eyes fall shut as he rocks her slightly. “Why are you home a day early?”

“I found her pills.” His arms tighten around her. Clarke tries to say more, but she just sobs instead. He doesn’t say anything either.

Her feet are lifted off the floor. Muscle memory kicks in, and she wraps her legs around his waist as he carries her. This is better. This is what she wanted. This is home.

“Daddy,” she mumbles into his shirt. The bathroom door creaks open and Bellamy carries her through. She doesn’t let go when he tries to set her on the counter, clinging to his neck so he won’t leave her.

“It’s okay. I’m just going to clean you up, Clarke.”

“Baby,” Clarke corrects.

“Baby,” he hums, and she releases him. Bellamy looks grave as he glances over her appearance, but he doesn’t say a word about it. He pushes her legs to the side so he can open the cabinet under the sink and pull out the first aid kit. “Can you take your shirt off for me?” She could, but she doesn’t want to. Clarke holds her arms out toward him. “Okay, Daddy can help.”

Bellamy carefully peels off her shirt and drops it to the ground, leaving Clarke in her sports bra. He’s so gentle as he cleans the cut on her arm, giving her a little kiss on her forehead whenever she winces. Neosporin is next, followed by an ugly beige band aid.

“I’ll get princess ones next time I go to the store,” he chuckles when he sees her scowl. That makes her smile for the first time in hours. Next, he cleans the dirt off her face and hands. “You got your nails done? They look so pretty.” Heat rises to her cheeks as he stops to kiss each and every finger.

He peels off her pants finally and gets to work cleaning up the scrape from the rake. “Can you tell me how this happened?”

“I… I wasn’t watching where I was going when I was looking for the pills.” His shoulders relax a little.

“So, nobody hurt you?” His hand gives her thigh a gentle squeeze, and she shakes her head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“You know what happened,” she mumbles. Bellamy places the band aid on her leg, though she doesn’t really need it. Still, it makes her feel better. “Are you really going to get princess ones?”

“I’ll go tomorrow, if you want. I was going to go to the store tomorrow anyway. I need some things, and I think you’re low on pads too.”

Clarke’s eyes meet his for all of one second before the tears start pouring again. She had completely forgotten about her late period until now.

“Baby, hey,” he murmurs, taking her face between his hands. His eyes look so worried, so soft and loving when they have no right to be. “Talk to me.”

He’s going to be upset. His life is too busy for a baby. And just because he cares about her doesn’t mean that he wants her to have his kid. Those two sort of I _love you_’s were just slips of the tongue and she’s just seeing what she wants to see. Just like Marcus with her mom.

“I’m sorry,” she cries, pushing forward until her face is buried against his sternum.

“Clarke,” Bellamy pleads, voice cracking.

“I—I’m late. Please, don’t be mad at me,” Clarke sobs. His fingers tighten at her waist, but Bellamy makes no sound. She can feel his heart thumping in his chest, quick like he’s panicked. She keeps crying, whimpering. One hand releases her to brush through her hair.

“I could never be mad at you,” he finally says. “Certainly not for this.”

Clarke shakes her head. He doesn’t understand that it’s her fault. Everything is always her fault. That’s why she loses everything. She can’t find another internship because she didn’t think to make a backup plan for the one she really wanted. Her mom doesn’t want her anymore because she’s been so harsh on her about her addiction. And soon, she’ll lose Bellamy. Either over this or because he’s going to finally see her for what she is: broken.

“Clarke look at me.” She shakes her head again. “Princess, please.”

Chin wobbling, Clarke pushes back so she can look up at him. His eyes are the same, still soft and loving.

“There’s my pretty baby,” Bellamy murmurs, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “You’re okay. Everything is okay.” He kisses her chastely on the lips then rests his forehead against hers. “This has been scaring you, hasn’t it?”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s going to be okay. You want me to go get a test?”

“No, don’t go,” Clarke whines, throwing her arms around his neck so he can’t leave.

“Okay, shh. I won’t go tonight. Tomorrow?”

“Okay.” She can take the test tomorrow. She’ll be better tomorrow.

Clarke relaxes into him again as he lifts her off the bathroom counter and carries her to bed. He pulls away, and Clarke whines. “I’ll be just a second. Gotta change, baby.” When he drops his shirt onto the bed, she claims it. Pulls off her sports bra and throws it on. It’s so warm.

As soon as the bed dips, Clarke presses as close to him as possible. Her legs tangle with his, her chest is pressed against his, and her face is buried in his neck.

“I missed you,” Bellamy whispers, rubbing his hands up and down her back.

“Yeah?”

“So much. Can’t sleep when you’re not here.” He kisses her hair.

“Really?”

“Really.” Clarke kisses his neck and relaxes into him. He can’t sleep without her. He needs her. He can’t leave her if he needs her.

She counts his breaths, trying to mirror them. They’re steady in a way that few things are. Clarke isn’t aware of drifting into dreamless sleep. She only realizes it’s happened when she wakes in the middle of the night to Bellamy snoring right into her ear. They shifted in their sleep. Clarke is on her side with Bellamy pressed against her back.

When she tries to turn, Bellamy’s hand on her stomach holds her in place. In his sleep, he presses closer and keeps a firm hold on her stomach.

“Bell,” Clarke whispers, her eyes fixed on his large hand cradling her stomach as if guarding something precious. It’s not intentional, she knows. His hand probably regularly finds its way to her stomach while they’re sleeping and she’s just never paid it much attention before. It didn’t hold any weight when there was no chance she could be pregnant.

It’s probably nothing. But that doesn’t stop her from wishing it were something.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *to the tune of can't touch this* stop! daddy time
> 
> full disclosure, i think i'm going to take a break on updates. i'm trying to figure out some things with this story and where it ends. i'll come back when i've figured out its endgame. in the meantime, enjoy me not leaving you guys on a cliffhanger for once.

It hurts to get out of bed. Clarke is so warm beside him, and after last night, he has no interest in being parted from her. But it would be far easier to go get the test while Clarke is asleep than to negotiate leaving while she’s awake with the pout in full force.

Bellamy gives himself five more minutes to curl up against her and kiss her hair. His hand falls to her stomach… not for the first time. It’s as though it’s being drawn there, unable to resist feeling what might be his baby. But it never stays long. The guilt seeps in as soon as he realizes how happy he would be if she were pregnant. Clarke was hysterical last night, and for good reason. He couldn’t get a read on how she felt about possibly being pregnant, only that she was scared that he would somehow be mad at her for it. As if his reaction would be anything other than thinking, _We can be a family_.

Quietly, he untangles himself from Clarke, gets dressed, and walks out of their bedroom. Outside the elevator, Clarke’s bags are still sitting there. As Bellamy carries them into the living room, one of them vibrates. With a sigh, he pulls out her phone to find that Marcus Kane is calling her.

“Clarke’s phone. This is Bellamy,” he answers.

“Is Clarke there? Is she okay?” the man asks, panting. “She hasn’t answered her phone all night!”

If Clarke knew that her exit had left Marcus worrying, she would drown in the guilt. “She’s okay. Fast asleep, actually. I’m her… boyfriend. She came straight here. I promise, she’s perfectly fine.”

“Thank God,” Marcus huffs. “If anything happened to her because of… Well, thank you. I’m sorry, I just didn’t know if she—”

“It’s okay.” It’s not, and they both know it. But what can Bellamy say? Acknowledging the breakdown Clarke had last night will only make this man who seems to have his hands full feel even worse, and it’s not his fault. “Is everything okay with, uh, Abby?”

“She’s going back to her rehabilitation center. It was… it was a rough night.” He coughs. “I guess I’ll let you go,” he says. “And, uh, thank you. You know, for taking care of Clarke. She hasn’t had a lot of that.”

A fact Bellamy is so painfully aware of. Was it like this every time? Did Clarke have to go through this trauma every single time all alone? His sweet, loving girl having her heart broken over and over again with no one to help her put it back together… he just can’t fathom it.

“She left her coat at your house.” He leaves out that she sobbed about that fact. Body shivering and eyes glazed over, and all she could manage to talk about was some coat.

“Oh. I’ll look for it.”

“Thanks, bye.”

Bellamy plugs the charger into her phone, grabs his coat, and heads out. At Walgreens, he finds himself wandering all the aisles, not quite ready to go down the family planning one. He picks up some Excedrin for himself along with the band aids he promised Clarke. The Christmas aisle is pretty barren, already picked over with two more weeks to go. He runs out of ways to procrastinate and finds himself walking toward the pregnancy tests with a fluttering stomach.

Would it really be so bad if she were pregnant? Does it make him selfish that he wants her to be? Sure, it’s not great timing. He still hasn’t mustered up the courage to talk about getting rid of the contract. And Clarke is still in school. But they could do it. Bellamy can take care of everything, and they could have a little family together.

If that’s something Clarke wants, that is. It might not be.

After buying two pregnancy tests, band aids, Excedrin, and a Three Musketeers bar that he devours as soon as he gets into his car, he goes through the Krispy Kreme drive-thru to get all of Clarke’s favorites. He has to admit that he looks a bit like a hungover college student as he rides up the elevator to the apartment, but it’s too early in the morning for there to be any witnesses.

Bellamy tiptoes back into their room, taking care to be quiet as he undresses. Clarke hasn’t moved, still sleeping serenely on her side. As soon as the bed dips, though, she rolls over and presses herself against him.

“You awake?” he whispers.

“No,” she mumbles, lips grazing against his neck. Bellamy chuckles as he snakes his arms around her. “You’re warm.” Bellamy combs his fingers through her hair, counting her breaths until they even out again. If only he could drift back to sleep too.

Clarke wakes again at ten, sleepily saying good morning and kissing below his jaw. “I got Krispy Kreme for breakfast,” he says, which wakes her up quickly.

“Did you get any—”

“Two lemon filled, three raspberry,” he assures her.

“Can I eat them in bed?” she asks. Spoiled thing. He pushes himself out of bed.

“You made a mess last time,” Bellamy reminds, and the pout comes out. “No, none of that.” Clarke is still pouting as he picks her up, but she wraps her arms around his neck like always as he carries her into the kitchen.

The two of them devour the dozen doughnuts, barely getting a word in between bites. The plastic bag from Walgreens sits on the counter, and his stomach clenches at the idea of bringing up what’s inside it. Clarke seems to know, though. Her eyes occasionally drift over to it, her brows knitting in worry at the sight.

He wants to say something. Anything that will put her at ease. But no words come in time. Clarke, brave as always, pushes herself up from the stool, walks around the kitchen island, and pulls one of the tests from the bag.

“I guess I should, you know…” she murmurs, looking over the box.

“You sure?” Her blue eyes flicker up to meet his. “You don’t have to do it right now.”

“Might as well get it over with.”

Bellamy busies himself with cleaning up Clarke’s crumbs, counting the seconds in his head before following after her. Ninety seconds seems like the amount of time it takes for someone to pee on a stick, he reasons. But he’s wrong, of course. The door of their bathroom stays shut for another two minutes before she emerges. Heart pounding, Bellamy jumps to his feet as he tries to make sense of her neutral expression.

“Three minutes,” Clarke tells him with a slight chuckle.

In all the TV shows he watched growing up, this is where the serious discussion happens. There’s a cliché love confession, maybe a proposal, and talking out all the options. Bellamy is supposed to tell her that he will support any decision she makes, which he will, of course. If Clarke says she would want the hypothetical baby, this is where Bellamy would swear up and down that he will take care of her and the baby and love them both forever, which he would.

But if he starts this conversation, he knows what Clarke will ask. Before she says what she wants, she will ask what he wants. If he opens that door, entire murals made up of his worship of her will come pouring off his lips. He will flood her with dreams of traveling the world with her, of searching for new ways to make her smile every day, of a future full of the kind of love neither of them have ever known before.

And that is not a conversation to thrust onto her at a time like this. Not with the pressure of this pregnancy scare on her shoulders, and certainly not after everything with her mother last night.

The alarm on Clarke’s phone echoes from the bathroom, but she doesn’t move.

Bellamy takes her hand, and she squeezes it hard. “I’ll go with you,” he whispers. Clarke doesn’t look at him but gives a slight nod.

Hand in hand, the two of them approach the bathroom at a glacial pace. Though he tries to keep them out of his mind, his thoughts from last night come flooding back. A nursery replacing the guest room. An infant lying between Bellamy and Clarke in bed, fast asleep. The sound of little footsteps stumbling around the living room, littered in toys. A little hand holding his as they cross the street. Another little one showing up a few years later. Two sets of little feet running down the hallway and into their room during a storm. His whole family cuddled together in that bed. A family that Clarke gave him.

_A family_. Something he hasn’t had in so long. Something he wants more than anything.

Just as he admits this to himself, the negative symbol on the pregnancy test comes into view.

“Oh,” Clarke whispers. Her hair covers her face so he can’t see her expression, but he imagines she’s relieved, which makes him feel like a monster for letting himself hope for anything else. And it’s ridiculous to be upset when he has everything he needs right here beside him.

No, this is right. The timing is so very wrong. Clarke’s heartbroken about her mother and still stressed about finding an internship.

When Clarke turns, she looks upset. Or maybe he’s seeing what he wants to see, hoping that she wanted to be pregnant too. She melts into him, resting her cheek against his chest as she lets out a deep sigh.

“You still have work to do, right?” she asks. It’s the furthest thing from his mind, has been ever since he heard the elevator open last night.

“I’ll catch up tomorrow,” Bellamy says, rubbing her back. “What do you want to do today?”

“Dunno,” she mumbles into his shirt. As he sways her side to side, his eyes settle on the bathtub.

“Baby, do you want to take a bath?” Like always, Clarke’s slumped shoulders fade away.

“With you?” He can hear the smile in her voice. “And bubbles?”

“Mhmm.” Clarke looks up at him, eyes bright and smiling broadly. If eyes were a forest, he could spend his entire life lost in hers. Happily. “Go put your hair up. I’ll get it started.”

She smacks a kiss to his lips and breaks free of his hold to locate a hair tie. Bellamy sits on the edge of the bathtub, watching her brush out the bumps in her ponytail as his hands waits patiently under the running water for it to get warm. The pregnancy test slips from his mind as he watches her pull out the fluffy towels she loves so much and finds the lavender bubble bath foam under the sink. It’s a far cry from the first bath they took together that first night. Clarke was spent and sleepy. And still a little shy. But she’s at home here now. Knows where everything is, has all her things littered across the bathroom counter, has all her soaps and shampoos shoved into every crevice in their shower. He can’t imagine this place without all her things, without her. It wouldn’t be a home at all. It never really was until she got here.

Bellamy strips off the shirt she stole from him last night and slides her panties down to the ground. Once the tub is full, he helps her in and grins as she sinks into the bubbles with a sated moan. He takes a little longer than he should undressing himself, but Clarke is so distracting. At first, it’s just her smile, but then she’s cupping bubbles in her hands and putting them on the tiled wall. Normally, she’d be whining about him not being in yet, but she’s lost in the bubble drawing she’s making with her fingers. Somehow, she can create works of art out of thin air, and what’s more amazing is that she doesn’t seem to understand how magical that is. Like how she doesn’t realize how incredible it was to take simple paper and transform them into a scared, anxious little boy’s favorite animal and help him through a difficult day.

The water feels heavenly when he first steps in. It’s a careful step as to not disturb Clarke from her masterpiece. Warmth coats every inch of him as he sinks into the water, making the bubbles wave across the surface. Lavender floods his nostrils, but he finds himself burying his face into Clarke’s hair to take in the honey scent of her shampoo that his mind associates with home. Clarke giggles as she melts back into him.

“Baby,” he hums, and her giggles grow louder as he kisses her hair. “What’re you drawing?”

“I meant for it to be a tree, but I think it looks more like a building now.”

“It’s beautiful, whatever it is.” Bellamy settles against the back of the tub, and Clarke settles against him, abandoning her bubble-covered wall.

They talk a little, but not about anything real. Certainly not about the pregnancy test still sitting on the counter. Conversation drifts off, and Bellamy spends the silence that follows taking a wash rag and washing Clarke’s arms and chest. She whines when he makes her pull her leg out of the water so he can wash it next, but there’s still a smile on her face anyway. Bellamy washes her back last, using it as an excuse to make Clarke turn around to face him and rest her head against his chest. At some point, he drops the washcloth in the warm water and uses his hands to rinse her back. He’s no artist like Clarke, but he lets his fingers draw the constellations he remembers into her skin. Cassiopeia, the first constellation he remembers finding all on his own in his mom’s backyard, is drawn over and over on her back.

“Are you going to Octavia’s for Christmas?” Clarke asks, lips grazing against his damp skin. The water has grown lukewarm, so he leans over to turn the water back on.

“Uh, probably not,” he admits, his chest tightening. “I mean, she could invite me, but…” Without him telling her, Clarke has to have gathered that he and Octavia aren’t close. “I don’t usually spend Christmas with them, no.”

“So, who do you spend Christmas with?”

Whoever will take him. Echo, back when they were together. Jasper and Monty, but only once because Bellamy couldn’t stand how Mrs. Green fussed over Bellamy not having a family to spend Christmas with. And a few years with no one at all.

“Friends sometimes. Why?”

He turns the water off and settles back against the tub. Clarke tucks her head back into his neck. The room is silent except for the water gently slapping against the bathtub wall.

“I don’t want to spend Christmas with my mom.”

Bellamy holds onto her a little tighter, feeling a lump in his throat. “So, we’ll do Christmas together, okay? I already have some of your presents.” Usually, that works to cheer her up, but she doesn’t respond. “Or how about we go somewhere for Christmas? Go on a little vacation somewhere warm.”

“Maybe,” she mumbles.

“Hey,” he says, lifting her chin up with his hand so he can look into her watery eyes. “I know, baby. It’s hard, but you’re not alone. I haven’t had a family in years either.”

“I could…” Clarke blinks a few times and drops her gaze to his chest. “I could be your family.”

_Family_ echoes in his ears again. But it’s not the siren’s song that taunted him earlier, it’s not a siren’s song at all. It’s not his heart falling without consulting his head. It’s not seeing what he wants to see. It’s the most beautiful work of art he has ever experienced. Five delicate words strung together to offer everything he wants, circling around him, flooding him with oxygen after years of struggling for breath.

Heart pounding, he whispers, “Do you want to be?” Her nervous eyes meet his again. He wipes some of the bubbles from her cheek and smiles. She doesn’t quite return it, but the corners of her mouth betray the ghost of it. She nods. “And I can be your family,” he promises. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she murmurs. Bellamy kisses her. Before his lips fully leave hers, she says, “Do you…” but then abandons the question.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Clarke,” he says, now taking her face between both his hands. Her lips part and shut three times, her brows knitting in concentration each time as she tries to push the question out. “Do I what?” he prompts.

“Do you… do you love me?”

“Yes.” Her eyes widen. “Desperately.”

Clarke’s offer to be his family had been such a beautiful song that he is left unprepared for the symphony that is Clarke saying, “I love you too.”

“Really?” It’s such a silly thing to ask at a moment like this, but this feels too much like a dream. Everything has felt like a dream since she walked into his apartment all those months ago. Her warm laugh that fills every inch of his cold apartment. The smile that mended every crack of his formerly broken heart. The kisses that breathe life back into him.

Clarke nods, pushing up on her thighs a little to reach up and kiss him. Bellamy holds onto her face, terrified this beautiful dream will slip away from him.

They kiss. Clarke’s lips accidentally land on his teeth because he’s smiling. They kiss again. Bellamy misses because Clarke starts giggling. She kisses him again, but now he’s laughing too. Her giggles come back, but they still try to kiss despite the messiness of it all. They’re the sloppiest kisses they’ve ever given each other, and his heart is soaring.

Somewhere amidst their lips pressing frantically against each other, the water turns lukewarm. Fingertips grow pruney. The bubbles disappear. It’s the logical end of their amorous bath.

Neither of them wants to get out.

No, sloppy kisses leave lips and find damp skin. Kisses on his throat, on her shoulder, barely missing each other’s lips, sometimes not even kisses at all but an open mouth trying to catch its breath.

His cock, that has been hardening and softening over and over throughout this bath, settles on hard with each of her grazes against it. “Clarke,” he sighs. It’s a plea, but he’s not sure for what. Bellamy loves her accidental teasing and isn’t sure he wants this moment to stop so that another can begin.

“Tell me again,” she replies, her lips dragging below his ear. Clarke doesn’t have to specify what.

“I love you.”

Her forehead finds his. Strands of blonde hair have fallen from her ponytail and now stick to his face. Their lips hover over each other, breathing heavily as Clarke moves against his cock again.

“Daddy loves his princess?” she asks, all high-pitched and sweet.

What is meant to be an affirmative hum comes out strangled and feral. The sweetest of words makes him grip her soft hips so hard it might leave a bruise. Her little whimper makes his cock twitch in the water.

“Oh, Daddy loves you, baby.” Clarke moves so his head keeps bumping into her clit. Such a greedy little girl.

“How much?”

“Can’t you feel how much?” he growls, holding her steady as she continues moving against him. Clarke pouts and shakes her head. “Want me to help?”

“Mhmm.” One hand leaves her waist and takes his cock instead. Her head falls to his shoulder. Slowly, he guides his cock inside her, using his other hand to guide her down. “Oh,” she whimpers. Despite being right by his ear, her voice sounds so little.

“Baby,” he hums. Water sloshes around them as he sinks into her. Her cunt makes the lukewarm water enveloping them seem ice cold. “Oh, baby.”

“Daddy.” He strains his neck trying to look at her. She’s smiling into his shoulder, eyes closed in a state of utter bliss. She’s never been so beautiful.

His hands don’t really have to guide her, but they do anyway. Just as they didn’t really have to say out loud that they’re a family, but they do anyway.

“Sweetheart.” She sighs contently at that endearment, so he keeps whispering it to her as she rides him. Her grip tightens on his shoulder. She’s focusing, trying so hard to get there and come for him. “Let Daddy help.”

He nearly winces as he reaches between them, hating that his arm is putting any distance between him and his baby. But it’s worth it if only for the sweet little sounds she makes when he starts rubbing her clit. Her face leaves his shoulder, and her forehead presses into his. Here, Bellamy can see every flutter of her eyelashes, every bite on her lips, the way the bottom lip quivers as she gets close.

Clarke barely makes a sound. Only her lips parting and eyes falling shut tells him she’s coming. “That’s it,” he hums. “That’s it, sweetheart.” A smile cracks on her lips before she turns to bury her face into his neck.

His hips rise to meet hers, sending water splashing out of the tub. Little moans fall off Clarke’s lips with each thrust up. “Daddy,” she says into his skin. “I love you, Daddy.” He clutches her tighter. She begins moving with him again, seeming to finally come down from her post-orgasm haze. She kisses his cheek and lingers there. “Come on, Daddy.”

“I know.”

“I need it,” she tells him, all bossy. Any other day, he’d spank her ass raw for that tone. But that smile… that sweet, loving smile… “Please, Daddy.”

It’s his turn to bury his face into her neck, growling as he bites at her skin. It takes a few minutes to give her what she wants, what she needs. His fingers dig into her waist and he grunts into her neck.

The two of them stay still like that for a while, clinging to each other in the increasingly cold water. He’s the one to make them separate, as much as he hates it. But Clarke starts shivering, and Bellamy is wrapping her in a towel as soon as he can reach it. He barely gets a towel around himself before Clarke leans into his chest.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

Clarke tilts her head up enough for him to see her beaming at him. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy grins. She giggles a little, squirming closer to him. His eyes survey the damage to the bathroom. Only a little water on the ground, easy to clean up. Pregnancy test box on the ground, having missed the trashcan by inches. And the test still sits on the counter.

There’s still a little part of him that wanted a different result. But it’s the impatient part of him, the part that’s already jumping too many steps ahead just moments after their first _I love you_.

He can wait. He wants to wait. She’s worth the wait. He’s got enough family right here in his arms.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is some smut to make you all forgive me for disappearing off the face of the earth.

The warm sunrise’s light flitters in through their suite window, waking Clarke before Bellamy has the chance to. On the other side of the suite, she can hear Bellamy talking to someone. Probably the waiter bringing up their room service breakfast.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Blake,” the waiter says as he drags the cart into the room.

Bellamy didn’t correct the concierge that first day they arrived in Maui when she assumed they were married. And since he doesn’t seem to mind the error, Clarke hasn’t corrected it either. Still, she blushes every time she hears someone call her Mrs. Blake.

“Merry Christmas,” she replies. Bellamy’s lips are turned up, though it’s clear he’s fighting a smile. He knows how much she’s loved playing his wife on this vacation. Teased her relentlessly for it as if he didn’t beam like a lovesick fool the first time the concierge called her Mrs. Blake.

Clarke props up her pillows as Bellamy tips the waiter handsomely. After a week on the island, they have a bit of a routine. Bellamy gets up first and orders room service. Clarke wakes up just in time for breakfast, and the two of them have breakfast in bed. They spend the rest of their morning at the beach. The afternoons consist of a shower, sex, and a nap in that order. Then, he spoils her in the evenings with fancy restaurants and lively shows or parties.

It’s the best vacation she’s ever been on, and by far the most expensive. If Clarke thought Bellamy spoiled her back when they were still adhering to the contract, she was dead wrong. Somehow, he had been holding back. That night in the bathtub was a light switch being flipped on, and now she’s experiencing a previously inconceivable level of his affection.

“So, when do you want to open your present?” Bellamy asks between bites of bacon.

Clarke swats his arm. “We did presents before we left,” she says. “You already gave me all my presents.” His grin tells a different story. “You said that was it, Bell!”

“At the time, it was,” he shrugs. “It’s not my fault I found a perfect gift for you here.”

He’s been spending a lot on her lately. There’s this fancy trip, for starters. The shopping trip for this fancy trip, which Clarke remembers with a blush because of what happened when Bellamy came into the dressing room with her. Two paintings that she’s in love with. New pearl earrings. Lingerie, which she shouldn’t count since that’s really just a present for himself. Flowers. So many bouquets of flowers. All of her Christmas presents when she only got him the painting she made for him and a new pair of cufflinks.

And she hasn’t forgotten the _car_ he gave her just because he’s not a fan of public transport.

“You have a problem,” she tells him.

“No, I just love you.”

It doesn’t matter how many times she hears it. Those words hit her like a speeding train every time, leaving her with a stupid, wide grin. Nothing could have prepared her for how overwhelmingly wonderful it is to be loved by Bellamy Blake.

She kisses him. It’s dirtier than she intends. A growl escapes the back of his throat.

“Baby,” he warns. Bellamy pulls his head back before she can kiss him again. “Eat your breakfast.”

Clarke devours everything in front of her. Bacon, pancakes, fruit, the mountain of whipped cream they put on the side just like she likes. Then, the two of them brush their teeth and get swimsuits on.

Bellamy puts most of the sunscreen on himself, only asking for help on his back. Clarke only does her own face. Daddy does the rest. His big hands massage the lotion into every inch of exposed skin.

“Your shoulders got a little pink yesterday,” he says in an _I told you so_ manner. “We’ll stay under the umbrella today.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“It’s either that or you listen to me when I say we need to get out of the water to put more sunscreen on. Are you going to listen to Daddy today?” His hands sweep the leftover sunscreen from her arms down toward her breasts, dipping into the bikini and making her squeak. He squeezes, but not as hard as she would like, and then removes his hands. “Baby?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good.” Bellamy squirts more sunscreen into his hands and returns to her chest. “I can’t have you getting burned.” One of his fingers trails down her sternum. “Gotta take care of my pretty baby,” he whispers all low. He’s getting her back for teasing him with those dirty kisses.

The first time they did this, she felt self-conscious just standing in front of him in her tiny bikini. Her stomach is too soft and her thighs are too thick. Clarke has definitely put on a few pounds since staying here with all the delicious food Bellamy has spoiled her with. But she feels a little more at ease now. It’s a sweet little ritual. Bellamy likes to kiss her stomach before putting sunscreen on. His hungry hands make her feel better about her legs. And there are three words he repeats over and over that has her insides turning to mush: _my pretty baby_.

The beach is nearly empty this morning because it’s Christmas. The guy who sets up their chairs and umbrella says it’ll be more crowded in the afternoon. The closest set of beachgoers is two hotels away, leaving Bellamy and Clarke in their own little world for a few hours.

The water clear and beautiful, a bit calmer than it has been all week. There are fewer waves to jump, much to her disappointment. Bellamy picks her up when they go where she can’t touch. For a while, she keeps her legs wrapped around him and her arms around his shoulders. They kiss a lot, more than usual since there are no witnesses. Clarke ends up putting her Ray-Bans, another Christmas present from Bellamy, on her head so they stop bumping into his sunglasses as they kiss.

When the waves pick up, he puts her down in shallower water and the two of them jump waves until it’s time to put on more sunscreen. A couple at the neighboring hotel come down to the beach, but their area is still vacant.

Clarke sips on a pina colada while working on a sandcastle. Bellamy helps by digging the moat but leaves the rest of it to her. He occasionally interrupts to put more sunscreen on her shoulders, but for the most part, he stays under the umbrella and alternates between reading his book and watching her.

“Come take a break,” he calls out, holding out another pina colada for her.

“Hold on. I’m almost done.” Clarke rifles through her bag to pull out the seashells she and Bellamy found yesterday and decorates her sandcastle with them. She rinses off real quick in the water, grabs her phone to take a picture, and then settles in her chair beside Bellamy. When she reaches for the drink he got her, he pulls it out of reach. “Hey!”

A smile tugs at his lips. “You have to come here,” he says. Giggling, Clarke maneuvers out of her chair and squeezes into the small space he left for her on his. His lips land on her forehead. “Mmm. Better.”

Despite the heat, Clarke curls up against him and sips her drink. He’s pulled her hair out of her damp ponytail and combs his fingers through it.

“I love you,” she tells him because she’s pretty sure she hasn’t said it yet today, which is just criminal.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. So much.”

He kisses the top of her hair. “I love you too, Clarke.” She closes her eyes, only opening them to locate her straw from time to time, and enjoys his fingers trailing down her scalp, down the back of her neck, drawing nonsensical lines into her back…

She could almost fall asleep.

But then he pulls the string of her bikini top loose.

“Bell!”

“Shh.” He kisses her slowly on the lips. “No one is watching.”

Clarke turns her head around to survey the rest of the beach. The couple one hotel over is out deep in the water on floats, too far away to really see them. The guy who put up their umbrella can’t see anything but the back of their chairs. But if the couple came in or if someone else came down to the beach, they could get caught.

Something warm rushes through her. She buries her face into his chest.

“Baby,” he hums. Her drink is pulled out of her hand. She turns to look at the beach again. Still no one to see them. “Do you want to?”

“Uh huh.”

Clarke climbs onto Bellamy, only bumping her head against the umbrella once in the process. As she relaxes into him, she feels his hard cock straining against his swim trunks.

His boldness seems to falter a bit as he surveys the beach again. But instead of deciding against this, he pulls Clarke’s towel off her chair and drapes it over her.

“If they see us, they’ll know what we’re doing,” she giggles.

“I don’t care if they know. But only Daddy gets to see you like this,” he growls. Her lips slam into his, caught off guard by his sudden possessiveness. But she likes it. She likes how his hands grip her tight and says that she’s his.

He doesn’t untie her bottoms, just nudges them to the side so he can stroke her clit while they kiss. Bellamy’s hand leaves her hip, no longer guiding her like he always does.

“I gotta hold the towel. Think you can ride me?”

“I need help,” she whines. He abandons her clit and slips a finger inside her.

“Big girls don’t need help,” Bellamy rasps. A second finger stretches her out. “Don’t you want to be a big girl for me?”

“Yes,” she whimpers.

“Yes what?” A third finger pushes inside, and a loud moan falls off her lips.

He fucks her with his fingers for a few seconds before Clarke can say, “Yes, Daddy.”

Pulling his trunks down while keeping the towel covering Clarke isn’t exactly graceful, but after some fumbling, Bellamy manages it.

The rhythm isn’t the hard part. It’s always the initial descent down his cock. She’s scared of taking too much too fast and hurting herself, even though that’s never happened. Despite all the sex they’ve had, there’s still something so intimidating about the length and thickness of his cock.

“Baby, you can do it,” he whispers. She nods, reaching between her legs to grab his cock. It feels so impossibly thick as the head bumps against her clit, too big to have ever fit inside her. But she knows it has. So many nights for so many hours, this cock has filled her up perfectly. So, she bites down on her bottom lip as lowers herself onto it. “Fuck,” he groans. “God.”

She buries her face into his neck, smelling sunscreen and sweat, and keeps moving up and down his cock. Somewhere behind them, there’s a DJ by the pool announcing a poolside game. Above, there’s a plane with a banner advertising swimming with dolphins or drinks at the beach bar. Far out in the water, she can hear a speedboat passing the beach. They’re surrounded by people, capable of being caught at any moment. And that thought has her soaked.

Riding him is murder on her tired thighs, but she can’t bring herself to stop or slow down. Her stomach is in knots and full of butterflies at the idea of someone seeing them. Her heart is pounding. Fucking out in the open is too much.

“Clarke,” Bellamy pants. “Slow down. If you…” He stops to growl into her shoulder. “If you don’t, I’m gonna come.”

She doesn’t slow down. Clarke is always the one who comes too quickly, not Bellamy. The idea of pushing him over after only a few minutes makes her cocky and greedy. For once, she’s in control. She has the power to make him lose control.

“You gonna come, Daddy?” she whispers.

“Baby, please.” His voice is low and desperate, the sexiest she’s ever heard it. He’s desperate for her. He needs her.

“No,” she says, running her hands through his damp curls. “I want you to come.”

“I’m gonna hold off for a bit. Want to make you come first,” he huffs. He holds the towel with one hand and snakes the other under to find her clit again.

Despite his words, he’s struggling. His fingers abandon her clit to hold onto her hip in a futile attempt to slow her down. And maybe she should give in to his requests, but the sounds he’s making are so broken and desperate, unlike any noises he’s made for her before. It’s how he always makes her sound.

She wants him to feel as good as he makes her feel.

“Daddy,” she whines, and he groans again. “Please.”

“God.”

“Come on,” she pants, thighs burning. “You want to. You want to come inside me with all these people around.”

His hips jerk a little, and his jaw is tense from trying to hold off. Clarke kisses him, and he whines into her mouth. “Baby, let me take care of you first,” he begs against her lips. “Want me to touch you?”

“Want you to breed me.”

Clarke isn’t sure where those words come from, but it’s clearly been lingering in the back of her mind just waiting to fall off her lips. There’s a split second as she says _Daddy_ where she panics about going too far or too weird, but it’s interrupted.

“Fuck,” Bellamy groans. The groan grows into a growl as his hand squeezes her hip hard and his hips jerk against her. His eyes fall shut and his face goes slack with pleasure as he fills her up. Clarke is usually too overwhelmed to watch him as he comes inside her, missing all the little things. His lips turning up, his normally bronze cheeks turning scarlet, his chest heaving up and down as he pants. He’s beautiful.

When his eyes open again, they’re not dazed like they often are after sex. They’re hungry. Dark. Heated. “Fuck,” he repeats. And then, he’s pulling her off his cock and pushing three fingers inside her. Clarke’s head falls into his shoulder. Her hands clutch the towel before it falls off, since Bellamy has abandoned it to fuck her as hard as he can with his fingers.

Tears pool in her eyes, her thighs shake, and she can hear the umbrella guy talking to some other people who just came down.

“They’re gonna see,” Clarke whimpers.

“Gonna see me breeding you, baby. That’s what you want, huh? Everybody watching Daddy breed you.”

She didn’t quite understand it when she said it. But now that his gravelly, low voice is saying it, she gets it. Clarke gets why he came so fast because she falls apart just as fast. Tears fall freely down her cheeks, and it’s just too good. He’s touching her just right, and there’s something so powerful about the idea of him giving her a baby. Something so primal and good.

Before the group of guys get their umbrella, Bellamy ties the back of her swimsuit, pulls his back up, and makes room for Clarke to sit beside him on the chair again. She wipes off her tears with the towel and adjusts her bottoms. By the time they’re in sight, the two of them look like a sweet couple who just wanted to cuddle on the beach. Very innocent. No one would suspect him of having licked her juices off his fingers just a second ago or her of having come drip out onto her bikini bottoms.

They don’t last much longer on the beach. It’s too hot, and they both reek of sunscreen, sweat, and sex. The cool air of the hotel is a relief, and the shower is heavenly. While her hair is still wet, she braids it so it will dry all wavy and relaxed. When she comes out, Bellamy is already back in bed but on the phone and smiling like an idiot.

“Who are you talking to?” Clarke mouths. He pulls the phone off his ear and puts it on speaker.

“—it’s not the same kind as a tree frog, but my mom says they’re still really cool. Maybe you can come to the zoo with us when they get here,” Ethan says, barely stopping to get in a breath.

“Hi, Ethan,” Clarke says.

“Clarke!” he shouts. “Dad, Clarke is there!”

“I can hear that,” Lincoln, she guesses, says. “You don’t mind Ethan crashing your New Years Eve plans, do you?”

“They’ve asked if we could babysit while they’re at a party,” Bellamy answers the question without her having to ask.

“We’re going to make more frogs, read three books, then—” Ethan starts.

“Slow down, bud,” Lincoln laughs.

“Don’t mind at all,” Clarke says, and Bellamy’s smile grows.

“Good, because this one hasn’t stopped talking about how much fun he had last time. Thanks for that, by the way,” Lincoln replies. “I’m sorry you had to miss your interview.” Bellamy must have told him.

Clarke blinks a few times. She had forgotten about that interview. Or not quite forgotten, but it seemed so long ago. And strangely, she isn’t sorry about missing her interview. Clarke has found other jobs to apply to, but she couldn’t bring herself to send her resume to any of them in the past two weeks. Working in a museum just doesn’t seem right anymore. There has to be something more out there, something that gives her the same warm feeling she had when Ethan’s eyes lit up at the sight of an origami frog. She just has to find it.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. Bellamy’s eyes are heavy on her, but she waves him off and asks Ethan what he got for Christmas.

The conversation goes on for an hour, and Octavia never once makes an appearance. Bellamy doesn’t mention it bothering him, but she can hear him fishing for an explanation with each question about what their family has done today. He doesn’t mope about it. He’s too excited about getting to talk to Ethan and getting a whole night with him next week to let his sister weight him down.

Bellamy naps once they’re off the phone, but Clarke can’t sleep. She should call Marcus and talk to her mom. It’s Christmas, after all. But Abby and Clarke haven’t spoken since the night she found her pills in the shed.

After twenty minutes of wrestling back and forth with it, Clarke takes her phone out onto the balcony overlooking the ocean and calls Marcus.

“Hey! Merry Christmas! How is Maui?”

“Beautiful,” Clarke sighs. She never wants to leave. “Merry Christmas. Are you with Mom?”

“Yep! We’re opening presents, hold on.” Out on the beach, it’s more crowded than this morning. Families are out with kids building sandcastles and flying kites. Parents are coaxing anxious toddlers into stepping into the water. There’s a mom managing to stay patient as her daughter continues to hit the volleyball any direction except toward her mom. “Abby, Clarke wants to talk to you.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Clarke keeps her eyes on the mom showing her daughter again how to hit the ball correctly.

“Hold on,” Marcus says before he probably puts her on mute. She can’t hear whatever conversation they’re having, but she knows what her mom is saying. Abby doesn’t want to speak to her. She doesn’t want to talk to the traitor who told Marcus she relapsed. She blames Clarke for her being back in rehab. Right now, she might hate Clarke. Tears form in her eyes.

The daughter actually listens this time, and the two of them hit the ball back and forth three times before it drops. They high five and try again.

“Hey,” Marcus says after a few minutes. “Now isn’t a great time, I think. She’s tired and—”

“And still hasn’t forgiven me,” Clarke says. Then again, Clarke isn’t sure she has ever forgiven her mother for any of this.

“It’s not how she really feels. You know that,” Marcus explains. “In a few weeks, she’ll be used to sober life again and be in the right state of mind. She loves you more than anything.”

Clarke doesn’t believe that. She hasn’t for a long time, but the belief grew firmer that night she found the pills. It was the first time her mother told the truth in a long time. Marcus is all she has, all she cares about.

“Merry Christmas, Marcus,” Clarke finally says.

“Wait, don’t hang up. I know your semester is starting up when you get back, but before things get to crazy, would you want to go to dinner? Bring that boyfriend of yours along? I’d love to meet him. And I want to hear all about your trip.”

Clarke wipes the tears away with the back of her hand. “Yeah, sure,” she says. Meeting Marcus is the closest thing Bellamy has to meeting Clarke’s family at this point. And a lot safer than taking him to see her mother. “That’d be nice.”

They make idle chit chat for a bit longer. Her favorite part is him offering to take them somewhere nice and to tell Bellamy that he’ll take care of the check. She fights the urge not to laugh.

Clarke doesn’t nap when she goes back inside, but she enjoys Bellamy’s warm arms finding her in his sleep. She trails her fingers up and down his arms, across his freckled face, exploring his sun kissed skin.

“I love you,” she whispers. In his sleep, he makes a pleased little hum in response. That sound repairs the cracks her mother’s silence just put in her heart, and she feels light again.

When his first alarm goes off, Clarke begins getting ready. Her makeup is done by the time the second alarm wakes him up for real. Sleepily, he pads into the large bathroom.

“God,” he murmurs, reaching around her waist and planting a kiss on her cheek. “You’re beautiful.” He kisses her again and again until she breaks out into giggles.

“Stop it,” she laughs.

He plants one last kiss on her cheek before letting her go. “Never.”

Clarke slips on the red dress with off-the-shoulder straps and black, strappy heels. Bellamy comes out in his slim black suit, going without a tie tonight. He’s wearing the cufflinks she got him for Christmas.

“Ready for your present?” he asks, turning to grab something from his bedside drawer.

“You really shouldn’t have gotten me anything,” Clarke reminds him, but only half-heartedly.

“Close your eyes.”

Something cold lands on her chest. A necklace. She pulls her hair up as Bellamy does the clasp. His hands adjust the way it lays on her chest, and she finally drops her hair.

“Open.”

It’s not like the charm bracelet he got her months ago or the pearl earrings he got her for Christmas. For one thing, there are diamonds shining back at her in the mirror. Not one diamond, many diamonds. But it’s so understated. Simple but breathtaking. She’s never been someone to obsess over jewelry, but she’s also never worn something so lovely.

“Bellamy,” she whispers, unable to stop staring at her reflection.

“Do you like it?” Behind her in the mirror, she can see his anxious expression. She nods, smiling wide and goofy. “Really?”

“Yes,” she nearly shouts. “But you really didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I did.” Clarke rolls her eyes. If he doesn’t slow down soon, they’re going to have to talk about how much he spends on her. “None of the other gifts felt right.” Clarke spins around to face him.

“Bellamy, I loved them.”

“I know, but I bought them before… before we said that we love each other. Before I understood just how much I love you. And I wanted to give you something that shows you how much I love you.”

Not for the first time today and not for the same reasons, Clarke tears up. She gets up on her toes and kisses him.

“I don’t need a gift to tell me how much you love me,” Clarke chokes out. “Just you.” Bellamy ducks his head, and she kisses his cheek. “But it is a beautiful necklace.”

“And it looks even more beautiful on you, just like I knew it would,” he whispers. His fingers wipe away her tears, careful not to mess up her makeup. Clarke gently rubs off the mark her lipstick left on his lips and cheek.

Once they’re both presentable again, Bellamy takes her hand, kisses it, and then guides her to the door so that they can go look at the Christmas trees in the hotel before their reservation.

Clarke can’t remember the last time she was this happy on Christmas.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like every time i update, you guys are bellamy when he realizes that clarke is alive in season 5. sugar update? asroarke is alive???
> 
> people don't believe me when i say i'm on top of everything, keep a consistent schedule, and still thrive under covid19, but anything is possible when you lie

Bellamy expected an interrogation. But Marcus Kane only asks about his job and how he likes it, all conversation like.

Clarke is meeting them at the restaurant since she spent her day catching up with Raven. It’s moments like this that Bellamy regrets his obsessive need to always be early, an obsessive need that Marcus seems to share because now they’re stuck at their table alone together fifteen minutes early with nothing to talk about.

“How’s Abby?” Bellamy blurts out. The question makes the man look like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Bellamy’s an idiot for asking. He should know better.

“Angry,” Marcus sighs.

It’s not the answer Bellamy is expecting, though he knows it to be true. Abby still won’t answer when Clarke calls, which is breaking her heart. The idea that Abby gets to be angry over anything makes his blood boil.

“Sure,” Bellamy mutters.

Marcus taps his fingers on the table, his brows furrowed as he stares at Bellamy. This isn’t going well. He needs to change the subject, but before he can try, Marcus says, “She doesn’t know where to place her anger, but she does get to be angry.”

“At Clarke?”

“No. Not at Clarke.”

“And yet, she lashes out at her.” It feels good to let this out. There’s no one else he can voice this anger to. Bellamy has been bottling this up since Clarke first broke down about her mom’s addiction all those months ago.

Their conversation is paused while the waiter brings them both their wine. Marcus takes a long gulp before saying in a calm voice, “It’s a complicated situation.” Bellamy takes a sip to avoid saying anything else to piss him off. “Not one that either of us could understand. Imagine losing the person you depend on. That’s what happened to Abby. Jake… Jake was a good man. He was a good father and husband. When he died, Abby didn’t have time to grieve. She had a daughter to take care of and a demanding job. She couldn’t bear it all on her own, so she turned to pills.”

It’s hard to sympathize when Bellamy had survived a similar situation. His mother left him broke and with Octavia to raise. He worked as many jobs as he had to in order to get by. He didn’t turn to drugs when he couldn’t handle it anymore, he turned to Pike. He got loans and help with Octavia and an education and the money to start his company. Bellamy didn’t take the easy route.

Maybe part of his anger toward Abby is that even though he did all the right things, the end result was the same. Abby lost Clarke, and Bellamy lost Octavia.

“I’m not excusing her,” Marcus says. “I just find that thinking about how she got here helps me understand.”

Mercifully, Clarke strides into the restaurant with a large smile on her face, and that puts this conversation to bed. She gives Marcus a big hug and Bellamy a kiss on the cheek. Just her presence gives him breath again.

From there, the evening takes a turn for the better. Clarke highlights connections between Marcus and Bellamy that they never would have gotten to on their own. Both of them are lovers of history, though Marcus has more interest in the last century’s history and Bellamy likes his history a little more ancient. Their preferred reading turns out to be rather similar as well, and Bellamy ends up pulling out his phone to write down a few titles Marcus suggests. At some point, Clarke stops bringing up their common interests altogether, leaving the two of them to ramble through dinner.

Bellamy had been full of predictions for how this dinner would go, but for some reason, it never occurred to him that he would like Marcus. What reason did he ever have to think he wouldn’t? Sure, he was naïve about bringing home Abby too early, but that’s understandable. From everything Clarke has said and that frantic phone call the morning after Clarke came home all cut up and freezing cold, Marcus has proven to be someone Clarke could depend on. Maybe it’s just because he is the first person in Clarke’s life that he’s met, and Bellamy is just looking for someone to funnel all his anger towards. Anger that no one took care of her. The anger should be reserved for Abby, but she’s not here. All he has is Marcus, a perfectly nice man who is just in love with the woman who abandoned Clarke.

“So?” Clarke asks once they’re finally home.

“So what?” She narrows her eyes. “I like him.” Though she doesn’t say anything, he can see the relief wash through her. His poor baby must have been so anxious about this dinner. “Of course, I like him.” Bellamy kisses her cheek.

Clarke has a complicated relationship with Marcus, but it has very little to do with Marcus. He’s not her father, though it’s clear he wants to have that kind of relationship with her. And then there’s Abby, who Clarke is convinced loves Marcus more than she ever loved her. She says it indifferently, but he knows that it rips her heart in two to say it out loud.

Despite all that, she and Marcus have a nice little friendship that was nice to see tonight. He’s more like an uncle than anything, and without Abby around to interfere, the two of them almost looked like they had always been family.

“What time are they dropping Ethan off?” Clarke calls out as she heads to their room to change.

“Eight,” Bellamy shouts. They have an hour. He does a lap around the living room, making sure everything is put away. Ethan won’t care, but Octavia and Lincoln might. He’s spent the last week buying board games to play while babysitting Ethan, and maybe some Legos and some toys from his childhood just in case Ethan gets bored. He went a little overboard, maybe. But he just wants Ethan to have fun tonight.

“Bell!” Clarke calls out a few minutes later. Her voice is whiny and high.

“In a minute!” He pulls some blankets from the closet and puts them on the footstool. Some people are cold when they visit the apartment, so it’d be better to have those handy just in case.

“Daddy!”

Bellamy braces his hand on the back of the leather couch, his mind momentarily drifting back to her nervous voice when she first asked if she really had to call him that. And now, she uses that word to wrap him around her finger.

“Fuck,” he growls under his breath before pushing off the couch. He’s striding into their bedroom just seconds later, and he finds Clarke in bed with the covers up past her nose. “Baby, what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she says, her eyelashes batting furiously at him. “Waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me? Why?” Though he can’t see her lips, he knows there’s a big smile on them. He is so fucked. She wants him to pull the blanket off her. He can tell by how her eyes light up as he runs his fingers over the covers. There isn’t a doubt in his mind what he will find when he pulls them down, but his body still responds when he finally sees her naked body. “Baby.” His voice breaks a little. “What do you want?”

He doesn’t touch her, but fuck, does he want to. It’s damn near impossible with the little show she’s putting on for him, letting him unwrap her like a present.

Clarke reaches for his pants, fumbling with the button at the top. His cock hardens under her touch. He lets her for a few seconds before his hands take hers. “What do you want?” he repeats, sterner this time. This is normally when her eyes go wide and innocent and she pouts because she wants to get fucked. But instead, Clarke tries to break her hands free so she can undo his pants. His grip gets tighter. “No.”

“Yes,” she pouts. He has to bite the inside of his lip so he doesn’t give away his smile.

“You have to ask for what you want,” Bellamy says, heart pounding. He thinks she’s about to give in, but she furrows her eyebrows and tries again to break free of his grip. With little resistance, he pulls both her hands over her head, pinning her to the bed. “You’re not listening to Daddy. What happens to bad little girls who don’t listen to Daddy?”

Her bottom lip wobbles as she whispers, “I don’t know.”

“Oh, yes you do.” She shakes her head. “They get punished.” He lets go of her wrists, and she doesn’t move this time. “Roll over.” She does it a little too quickly, betraying the pouty act she’s trying to pull off, and gets in position so that her plump ass is on perfect display. She’s such a good girl.

Her skin is so pale that each slap to her ass leaves a dark pink mark. He once panicked that he had spanked her too hard until Clarke asked for him to do it harder. Now that he knows she likes it so much, he dips his fingers between her legs to see how much wetter each slap to her ass makes her.

Bellamy settles on ten. Not because she deserves so few but because they don’t have a lot of time to play, and fuck, does he want to play. His hands rub her sore skin as he tells her what a good girl she’s being. After a few minutes, her legs part slightly, getting too impatient. When he doesn’t say anything, she pushes her ass up for him.

“Baby, do you want something?”

“Uh huh,” Clarke mumbles. “Wanna get fucked, Daddy.”

“How?” Bellamy dips his hand between her legs, groaning at her arousal coating his fingertips. “Just like this?”

In answer, Clarke turns her head and rests her cheek on a pillow, getting comfortable, then nods. Always his little pillow princess.

Once he pulls himself out of his pants, not bothering to get all the way undressed, he pushes her ass up higher so she’s propped up on her knees and sinks into her. No real foreplay, this time. The two of them are too keyed up already, and if he has to go another second without being inside her, he might combust. Somehow, he’s been hungrier for her. And her hunger has risen with his as well. At first, he thought it was just the afterglow of finally confessing how they felt. But it still hadn’t waned.

Then, Clarke asked him to breed her, and their feral, frantic fucking finally had a word. He needs to be inside her, needs to fill her up, needs to breed her. Clarke needs it too. She wakes him up in the middle of the night begging him to fill her with his come, clawing at his back as he fucks her until he finally does.

He could write it off as a kink, but he knows that for him there is more behind it. Bellamy secretly wanted Clarke to be pregnant during the pregnancy scare. And now that he knows she loves him, he can’t help thinking about the possibility that she might be pregnant with his baby one day. It’s more than sexy talk to him. It’s a hunger stronger than any kink.

In this position, Clarke can’t claw at him or cling to him like she has been, so her mouth says what her body can’t.

“So good,” she pants over and over. Her moans echo through the entire room. “Daddy, Daddy.” Her fingers are gripping the sheets so tight that they might rip.

He lowers himself over her, making it more work to keep thrusting in and out of her tight cunt. His fingers tangle themselves in her hair and pull gently until she lifts her head up enough that his mouth can get to her throat.

“I love you,” he growls into her skin. “So much, fuck.”

“I love—love you,” she whimpers, all breathy and whiny just how he likes. One of her arms reaches back so she can hold him there against her neck. Her thighs are shaking beneath him, and her beautiful sounds turn fluid and messy like they always do when she falls apart.

The position is starting to hurt. His right arm has begun to shake from holding himself up like this for too long.

“Baby,” he grunts. “Baby, say it. Please, say it.”

She doesn’t have to ask what he means.

“Breed me,” she stutters out. He bites down hard on her shoulder.

“Daddy’s gonna breed you,” he growls. When he isn’t whispering something filthy to her, he’s mouthing at her throat. “Is that what my princess wants?”

Clarke’s head falls forward as she tries in vain to catch her breath. Her cunt is still fluttering around his cock, squeezing him so torturously good that he’s _right there_. “Uh huh,” she whimpers. “Fuck a baby into me, Daddy.”

His vision goes white. His muscles give out. His face falls into Clarke’s neck. For a moment, he can’t hear anything.

The world comes back into focus. Clarke seems just as dazed as him as he pulls his spent cock out of her. He isn’t sure who clings to who, but they end up pressed chest to chest, legs intertwined, and breathing heavily as they clumsily try to kiss.

He tries to think of a time he has ever loved someone this much. And loving her is so easy. Not the impossible romance he thought should be the goal when he was younger. Not the wild rollercoaster of fighting and making up. Easy, so beautifully easy. Just two people getting lost in each other.

Bellamy would ask her to marry him right now if he thought she was ready to say yes.

They lie like that for a few minutes, not saying a word. When seven thirty hits, they roll out of bed, take a quick shower together, and make themselves seem presentable enough… or at the very least, like they hadn’t just fucked each other like animals.

Ethan runs out of the elevator door before his parents can catch up. Clarke gets the first hug, of course. The kid is a little bit in love with her, and Bellamy can’t blame him. But Bellamy gets his love soon enough in the form of a big hug of his own.

Octavia and Lincoln come in behind him, Lincoln carrying a large duffel bag and Octavia with a stuffed lunch box. “You guys didn’t have to bring all that,” Bellamy says. “It’s just a few hours.”

“I know you guys already had dinner,” Octavia says as she makes her way into the kitchen, “so I went ahead and packed him some. I have instructions written—”

“Mom,” Ethan whines. “I said I don’t need it. Uncle Bell makes really good grilled cheese!” Bellamy had stopped at the store yesterday specifically to pick up more bread because he knew Ethan would ask for it. And he got those individual bags of carrots for a healthy snack later. Also, grapes, four different kinds of fruit juice because he has no idea which Ethan will want, and small brownie bites for dessert. All of which Octavia would know if she had bothered to read his texts.

But he doesn’t say anything. He’s not going to do anything to possibly mess up this night with his nephew.

“I know, I know,” Octavia says. “But I don’t want you eating junk food. So you’ll eat what I made you.”

Bellamy might not have wanted to say anything, but Ethan sure as hell was not able to stay quiet. “But I—”

“Ethan,” Clarke interrupts with her warm voice, and Octavia glares at her. “Do you want to help me show your dad around the apartment? I don’t think he’s seen the place.”

Lincoln’s eyes dart between Bellamy and Octavia, unsure if he should leave the two of them alone even if it might prevent his kid’s tantrum. Bellamy forces a smile, determined to be the adult in the room even if it kills him, and Lincoln finally lets Ethan lead him toward the hallway.

After a few seconds of dead silence, Bellamy says, “You really didn’t have to bring him food. I told you, we have everything covered here.”

“I know,” Octavia replies. She leans against the fridge. “But I try to make sure he has well-balanced, healthy meals. Nothing fried or greasy, so uh…”

From what he knows based on many years of stalking his sister’s Facebook, Ethan has been homeschooled since they first started fostering them. Octavia quit her job to teach him. He’s apparently very far ahead of other kids his age, no doubt thanks to her attention. But he never sees pictures of Ethan with other kids… or with anyone other than his parents. There’s the whole no TV rule, of course. And now, this obsession over what he eats. It’s not even a matter of her thinking Bellamy couldn’t make him a healthy meal, though he wants to jump to the conclusion that this is personal since so many other things between them are. Somehow, his wild little sister turned into the world’s biggest hover parent, visibly stressed over the idea of leaving her son with someone else for a few hours.

“Well, uh,” Bellamy says. “No TV tonight, I know. We have some board games to play and I picked up a Lego set we could all put together. And Clarke picked up some books on frogs from the library, though he may have read them already.”

“He’ll read them over and over happily,” Octavia chuckles.

“What time should we put him to bed?”

“Nine,” she says, and his heart sinks. That leaves so little time for them to hang out. “Or, uh, I mean, it’s a holiday. I don’t want him staying up until the New Year or anything, but as long as he’s not too tired, he could stay up later.”

Octavia rarely makes concessions. It’s her way always.

He doesn’t make a big deal of it, but internally, he’s ecstatic. Nothing is quite fixed between them, but this is a start.

The tour Ethan and Clarke took Lincoln on is a fast one. Ethan is over his parents hanging around and wants them to go to their party so the fun can begin.

They start with dinner. Though it kills him and makes Ethan upset, he prepares the meal Octavia made for him. Clarke asks Bellamy to make her a grilled cheese, winking at Ethan very unsubtly.

“Alright, I’ll split my grilled cheese with you if you eat half of everything your mom made,” Clarke tells him while Bellamy is turned to the stove. It’s the kind of loud whispering kids think no one can hear.

“A third,” Ethan counters.

“Half, or no deal.” It works, and Bellamy pretends not to see when Clarke slides half the sandwich to Ethan.

They zoom through Legos faster than he had planned, and Ethan isn’t in the mood for board games. “Do you have anything else I can build?” he asks.

“No,” Clarke says in an apologetic voice. “But I have some books.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Bellamy looks around the room. His eyes settle on the blankets he left on the footstool.

“Or we could build a fort,” he offers. Ethan’s eyes light up, beaming at him like he had just unveiled a huge cake or a toy on Christmas morning. The last time a kid looked at him like that was Octavia on the Christmas before their mom died. They couldn’t afford a new bike for Octavia, but Bellamy’s old one was the right size. He’d never admit this, but he spent weeks cleaning it up. He spent the last five dollars he had on some pink paint so it would look more like the bikes all her friends rode around the neighborhood. He took apart an old wire basket his neighbor had put on the curb with his trash and fashioned it into a small bike basket. It wasn’t like the brand-new bikes all her friends had, but she loved it like it was.

Blankets fly across the room, falling repeatedly as they try to put the fort together. Pillows are taken from the couch and the guest rooms. Ethan grabs a placemat off the kitchen table and makes it a doormat for their new fort. Per Ethan’s request, Clarke gets to work making an army of origami frogs to defend the fort from all sides. Every now and then, he’d catch her smiling at Ethan and Bellamy from “boot camp,” AKA the kitchen table where she makes the frogs.

After the third time the fort collapses, Bellamy starts rearranging the living room furniture to make it sturdier. Ethan watches from the side, arms crossed and full of opinions on where each piece should go. He’s a lot like Octavia in that respect. In fact, Bellamy recalls this same exact scenario many times from their childhood.

By the time the fort is finished, Ethan is yawning and rubbing at his eyes. He’s adamant that he’s not tired. But the nice thing about blanket forts is that they’re dark and cozy. So while Ethan thinks he’s getting away with staying up late, they actually have him lying in the sleeping bag Octavia brought over, taking turns reading the frog books with a flashlight while he struggles to keep his eyes open. By ten thirty, he’s out cold.

“God,” Bellamy chuckles quietly. Clarke is lying on the other side of Ethan, propped up on one arm. “I thought he’d never go to sleep.”

“Please,” she giggles. “You could’ve kept playing with him all night.”

“Octavia would kill me.”

“Well, she could loosen up. Was that how you guys were raised?”

“God no,” he laughs. “Aurora Blake would drop us off at friends’ houses with nothing but a toothbrush. She worked so many hours that she usually wasn’t home to make sure we went to bed early. I mean, I made sure O did, even before my mom died.”

“Huh.”

“I definitely wasn’t a hover parent. I was more worried about making enough to support both of us up until Pike helped us out.”

“Who?”

Bellamy sighs. “An old friend of my mom’s. Think they went to school together or something. I had been laid off from my job for taking too many sick days to take care of O, and I was desperate. He’s the only lifeline I had, and I asked him to help me cover rent for that month. He ended up doing way more for us, not that O ever appreciated it. Pike got me into college, pulled some strings with his friends on the scholarship board, watched Octavia when I had the night shift. He’s the reason I got here.”

“But Octavia didn’t like him?” Clarke guesses, and he nods.

“I don’t think it was personal. I, uh, I had been struggling with her when she hit fifteen. She was hanging out with a bad group of kids, and I know she had been drinking and smoking though I never caught her. I didn’t know what to do, Clarke.” Bellamy stares up at the blanket ceiling, wondering why he still finds himself wondering what he could have done better. It all comes down to him being dealt an impossible hand and doing the very best he could. And he’s not sure he would do anything different. Though they aren’t close anymore, Octavia turned out okay in the end. She has a happy marriage and a wonderful kid. She’s not going down the rabbit hole that he feared she would way back then. “I was still a kid myself. I didn’t know how to handle a teenager, nor did I have time between my job and school to stay on top of her. Pike suggested this school that one of his friends worked out. All girls, Catholic though you didn’t have to be to go there, full of girls who were at risk of falling into the wrong crowd… that kind of thing. Pike paid her tuition too. It seemed like the best thing I could do for her.”

“Bell.”

“And I think it was,” Bellamy clarifies. “I know it was. But she hated it. She said all I do is throw money at problems instead of dealing with them. I took her away from all her friends at her old school. Unlike her old teachers, these ones gave me weekly updates on her, so I knew everything that went down at school. I knew what assignments were due and what kind of grades she had. I knew about every fight she tried to start and every teacher she disrespected. The school was strict and full of tough love and maybe that’s why she hovers so much over Ethan now, but being a hover mom is so much better than being a high school dropout or teen mom and continuing the cycle of broke Blake’s living in that neighborhood.”

Clarke reaches around Ethan to run her fingers through Bellamy’s hair. He glances at Ethan who hasn’t been disturbed in the slightest by Bellamy’s horrific journey down memory lane. There’s drool on his pillow now.

“My therapist is the only other person who knows all about that,” he confesses. After a deep breath, he finally gets the courage to look Clarke in the eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Clarke whispers.

“What?”

“You… you had no choice. You did the best you could. Maybe she’ll see that one day. Maybe she won’t. But you did it for her. You did what was right for her, even if she hates you for it. So, it’s not your fault. None of it is.”

Carefully, he reaches for the hand in his hair and brings it down to his lips. Bellamy turns onto his side, and the two of them hold hands above Ethan’s pillow.

“It’s not your fault either, you know,” he tells her.

Clarke swallows before saying, “I know. And my mom can hate me for the rest of her life if she wants. I’d tell Marcus the truth all over again.”

Silence fills the fort again. They could easily sneak out of the fort, but neither of them seem eager to leave. Watching Ethan sleep is calming, and watching the way Clarke beams at Ethan eases the ache in his chest.

“Do you want to have kids one day?” he blurts out.

The corner of her mouth turns up. “I didn’t used to. I could barely keep myself afloat, so the idea of taking care of another person was terrifying.”

“I know the feeling.”

“But now, I do.” Bellamy squeezes her hand. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” he grins. “Can I tell you something?”

“Do you even have to ask?” she giggles.

“No, I guess not,” he laughs. “It’s just… okay, I know this is selfish, but there was this part of me that really wanted you to be pregnant. The timing was wrong, obviously, and I know I shouldn’t—”

“I wanted to be pregnant too.”

Bellamy stares at her in the dark, heart thumping loud in his chest. “Really?” She smiles weakly and nods. “So, one day, would you want to—”

“Yes,” she laughs.

“With me?”

“With you.”

He can’t kiss her right now, not with Ethan between them fast asleep. All he can do is kiss her hand. “I love you,” he tells her. “I can’t even tell you how much I love you.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I love you that much too, Bell.”

It’s not very comfortable, but he doesn’t dare let go of her hand. The two of them rest their heads on their own arms, still holding hands on the floor above Ethan’s pillow.

They don’t stay up until midnight. He wakes up an hour into the New Year when he hears a camera click. After rubbing his eyes, he looks up to see Lincoln and Octavia smirking down at them.

“No brooms to vault the ceilings?” Octavia teases. “I see I’m going to have to teach Ethan the right way to build forts.”

“The brooms are a safety hazard and never would have passed inspection,” he grumbles. Clarke and Ethan stir a little, but neither want to wake up. He manages to slip his hand out of Clarke’s, and his whole arm aches from the position he slept in. Octavia helps him up to his feet.

Lincoln maneuvers Ethan out of his sleeping bag, and Bellamy helps Octavia roll it up. They tiptoe out toward the elevator, careful not to wake Clarke.

“Did you guys have fun?” he asks.

“Yeah, it was nice to have a night off,” Lincoln says. Octavia doesn’t verbally agree, but she looks more relaxed than she did a few hours ago. “Oh, I ran into one of my buddies who is an art therapist. I know that’s not what Clarke has been looking into, but I asked if he would be willing to have someone shadow, and he says he would be happy to. It’s fine if she doesn’t want to, but I thought with her art degree she should look into it.”

“I’ll let her know,” Bellamy says. He turns to Octavia. “I’ll see you guys later, then.”

She hugs him. He freezes a few seconds before hugging her back.

“Happy New Year,” she calls out when she joins Lincoln in the elevator. There’s a grin on his face as he heads back to the living room. It’s not everything, but it’s a start.

Clarke is still fast asleep on the floor, surrounded by blankets from the collapsing fort. “Baby,” he sighs. She grumbles. Though his arm aches, he manages to lift her off the floor and carry her to their actual bed. “We slept through the New Year.”

“Mhmm.” Half asleep, she rolls over toward his side of the bed, reaching for him. He quickly turns off the lights and crawls in beside her. This pleased little hum comes from Clarke as her searching hand finally lands on his chest. Her leg slides between his and her head rests on his shoulder.

Bellamy lifts her hand from his chest and kisses it. “Happy New Year, sweetheart,” he whispers. 


	17. Chapter 17

She hadn’t planned on coming here. Clarke assumed she’d have Marcus and Bellamy with her when she finally decided to face her mother. But she made a big decision today, one that Marcus, Bellamy, and Raven are so supportive of.

But all she could think about is what her mother would think of it.

It’s ridiculous, really. Clarke shouldn’t care. But there is still this part of her that needs her mom to be proud of her.

The room they put her in is overdone with repetitive modern art and sleek couches that look more comfortable than they are. They chose greens and blues, likely intending to be soothing. But the green just reminds Clarke of how much she wants to throw up.

When her mom comes in, it’s clear that she thought she was about to see Marcus, not her daughter. She makes no scene, though. Just plops down on the couch adjacent from Clarke, playing nice until the door finally shuts. Then, her eyes fix on one of the hideous paintings.

“Hi, Mom.” No response. Clarke shouldn’t have expected anything else. Her phone calls have gone unanswered, and her mom goes silent whenever Marcus tries to put her on the phone. “Happy to see you too,” Clarke grumbles.

Her mom looks better than she thought she would. Clarke can usually tell how well her mom is doing in rehab based on how much effort she puts into her hair and makeup. Last time she visited her at one of these places, Abby Griffin had clearly slept in her makeup and didn’t care enough to clean it up the following morning. But her hair has been washed and brushed, and she has a natural looking makeup routine going.

“I wanted to tell you that I figured out what I want to do,” she continues. “I, uh, started shadowing an art therapist. Nyko is his name. He actually comes here every now and then, so you might know him.” No reaction. Just more stares at the ugly artwork. “Anyway, I’ve been trying to figure out what to do after graduation. Nothing was really panning out, and then I realized that the internships and jobs I was applying for weren’t really what I wanted. But art therapy is incredible. I don’t know. It just seems like everything has been slowly pushing me in this direction but I’ve only now figured it out. So, uh, I’m studying for the GRE and applying to grad school.”

Though she had known better, this is the part she had imagined her mother saying she’s proud. Or, more realistically, jumping right to asking about salary and how Clarke will support herself. Any comment, nice or mean, would be preferable to this silence. She must think that ignoring Clarke will make her go away.

Too bad.

“I’m still with my boyfriend, Bellamy,” Clarke continues, now turning to look at the same painting. It’s identical to one she saw in the lobby. They must have bought these disasters in bulk. “We live together. He’s the one, so maybe one day you might want to meet him.” Still nothing.

Fuck it.

With a grin, Clarke says, “He’s thirty-four.” It doesn’t break the silence, but her mom’s jaw clicks and she’s clearly biting her tongue. She wants to say something so bad that it’s killing her. “Almost thirty-five. Marcus likes him.” Another click of the jaw. Marcus met Bellamy before her. There’s no way she’s happy about that.

“We had a pregnancy scare,” Clarke says. Not something she would want to confess to her mother, but right now, she’s so angry that she doesn’t care what her mother thinks about her and her choices. And all she wants is to break her mom’s resolve. Make her snap and lash out so that Clarke can finally talk with her instead of at her. And Abby is right there, eyes bulging and gnawing at her lips trying to keep from yelling at Clarke. “You were almost a grandma. The test came back negative, of course. But we both really wanted a positive—”

“Good God, Clarke!” she yells. She sounds just like the mom Clarke remembers from her childhood. “You’re still in school!”

“We would have figured it out,” Clarke shrugs, biting back a grin.

“Figured it out?” Abby groans. “You need to have a plan. This isn’t adopting a pet. This is a baby! And are you two not using protection? How many times have I—”

“It’s fine, Mom.”

“It’s not fine! This could have ruined your entire future!”

“It wouldn’t have.”

“And you were going to just ‘figure it out?’ I didn’t raise you to be so cavalier about protection and pregnancy. Have you already forgotten all the—”

“You know,” Clarke shouts, “I would have loved to talk to you about this, but you weren’t speaking to me! I would love to let you meet Bellamy and be more involved in my life, but you hate me! You hate me for doing what was best for you! You would have done the same damn thing for me, but you hate me for it! Dad is dead, and you’re all I have left, and you hate me!”

That shuts her up. Clarke stands up and grabs her purse. This was a mistake. All she wanted was to tell her mom that she figured out what to do with her life. She did that. She can go.

“Clarke.”

She ignores her. It feels good.

“Clarke!”

Her hand clasps around Clarke’s wrist, stopping her from leaving.

“Do you want to be my mom or not?” Clarke hisses. “Because I am sick of waiting around to see if you still love me.”

Abby’s eyes soften. Clarke is crying, but she’s not sure when that started.

“I do love you.” Clarke jerks her wrist out of her clasp. “You’re my daughter, Clarke.”

Clarke has been jealous watching Bellamy and Octavia slowly melt the ice wall between them. They aren’t fixed, exactly. There’s still thick tension between them that even their mutual love of Ethan can’t fix. But it’s like they’ve both started to let go of what they’re supposed to be and are making peace with what they are. Not the close brother and sister from their childhood. Not the pseudo parent child relationship that had been forced upon them. Siblings with very different lives and different opinions… but still knowing they would do anything for each other. They found peace in their new lives and roles.

She wants that for her and her mom. She isn’t getting the mom from her childhood back. Abby isn’t the person who takes care of her anymore. But there has to be somewhere new for them to go, somewhere still full of love but at peace with how things have changed.

“I don’t… I don’t hate you,” Abby whispers. “I hate…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. Deep down, Clarke knows how it would end. She’s always known. It’s always easier to blame someone else. And it’s always been Clarke who has forced her to get clean.

The silence drags on, only broken by the two Griffin women sniffling.

Clarke doesn’t want to be the bigger person, the adult in the room. She wants her mom to guide her through this scary conversation and make everything okay. But it’s clear that she can’t, and Clarke is finally in a place where she can. So, she offers the olive branch.

“Let’s sit back down,” Clarke says.

They do. And for once, they talk.

Her cheeks are stained with tears as she leaves the facility. Her thick, oversized sunglasses cover up most of the damage. Celebrities wearing fancy sunglasses to funerals finally make sense. Best way to look chic while bawling your eyes out.

Clarke blows off her afternoon class. Attendance isn’t required anyway, and she’s already written her final paper. She breaks in her new black card, something Bellamy has been trying to give her for two months. Money has been an awkward subject ever since they tore up the contract. Clarke refused any more direct deposits into her bank account, which Bellamy only conceded to when Clarke let him pay her last semester’s tuition. But instead of direct deposits, he started giving her gifts. So many ludicrously expensive gifts. She told him it had to stop.

And then, he broke down. Clarke’s heart stopped at the sight.

“I never wanted the money,” Bellamy whispered once she coaxed him into bed. That night, she let him rest his head on her chest and wrapped her arms around him. It always worked to soothe her, after all. “I wanted O to be taken care of, but she didn’t want that. The whole reason I created this company was for her. I worked so hard for her.” He took a long break to slowly breathe in and out before adding, “I liked giving you presents, Clarke. I love taking care of you and spoiling you and doing things to make you happy. It’s because I love you, but also because it makes it all seem worth it. All those years of long hours and miserable work, and the reward is that I can take care of the woman I love.”

An agreement was made. Bellamy will limit his gift giving, but Clarke has her own black card to get anything she needs. He’s taking care of her, but within reason.

She doesn’t buy anything too wild. Some canvases to replenish her studio supply, an amber ring that fits her middle finger which she jokingly tells the cashier is so that anyone she flips off can have something pretty to look at, the peel off facial masks that just stare at her on the counter as she goes to pay, and a sexy blue bra and panties set, which technically counts as a gift for Bellamy. It’s not the huge shopping spree Bellamy keeps telling her to go on, but this is how she compromises.

Once she gets home, she collapses onto the bed and takes a nap. It’s one of those sleeps where she wakes up with drool on the pillow and isn’t sure she’s still on the same plane of existence. What is it about crying that makes her so sleepy?

Clarke spends the late afternoon in the bathroom. Puts on one of the peel off masks, plays old Britney Spears from her new iPhone, and paints her nails baby pink. She misses most of Stronger and all of Lucky while she waves the hairdryer over nails, instead reminiscing on those girls’ nights she and her mom used to have while her dad was out of town. Her mom would put Clarke’s hair in big oversized rollers as they did nails and Clarke played in her makeup. They would watch princess movies when she was little and rom coms when she was older.

They could do that again. They’re different now, but they could still do all that. She tears up again.

Though she doesn’t need one, she fills the tub for a bath. Bellamy got her new bath bombs that have rings inside and bubble up to the surface in an Easter egg looking thing, and Clarke is a little bit addicted to them. Baths and presents are a wonderful combination. The only thing that would make it better is if Bellamy were home from work.

She belts out Hit Me Baby One More Time once she’s in the tub. Clarke bats around the bath bomb, watching a trail of blue and purple foam follow it as it darts away. Her mind doesn’t drift. It fixates on the slow fizzle in front of her.

Clarke usually can’t turn her own mind off. Movies help, particularly those of the Disney Princess variety. Mostly, Bellamy is who gets her mind clear. He takes over and lets her be little. There’s no need to worry about anything when he is there because he always takes care of her.

But right now, she’s at peace. All on her own. Today, she took on the very thing she was scared of. Clarke let herself be vulnerable, deciding to make peace with whichever way it went. She was ready to let go if she had to, but she didn’t have to. Clarke still has her mom, and she knows deep down that they’re going to be okay.

An orange ball pops up to the surface. Inside is a ring with a shiny pink gem. Clarke sets it on the ground by her phone so it doesn’t get messed up. She digs into the box and plops another bath bomb into the water, this one bright pink. As it moves through the water, the colors stay separate long enough to make the bathwater equivalent of the bisexual flag, an ironic accident.

Her Britney playlist ends right as she hears Bellamy’s footsteps. “Clarke?”

“In here, Daddy.” She sinks a little lower into the water, hiding her blush from view.

After a little shuffling in the bedroom, he walks in with his hands in his pockets. His tie has been loosened and his collar unbuttoned right at the top. As his grin grows, he starts to roll up his sleeves to his elbows. He must know how good he looks like this.

“Digging into the bath bombs?” he laughs. He picks up her ring from the first bath bomb and admires it. “So pretty.”

“I love it,” Clarke grins.

“Let me see it on you.” Rolling her eyes, she lifts her right hand from the water. Bellamy slips it on with ease and holds her hand up, admiring it. He kisses her fingertips, and Clarke giggles. “Beautiful.” He doesn’t let go of her hand. “So, you couldn’t wait for Daddy to have bath time?”

Clarke sinks further into the water. With a pout, she says, “I wanted to see what ring was inside. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Are you almost done?”

“No,” Clarke pouts. If she plays her cards right, he’ll get in with her.

“Hmm.” Maybe it’s unfair of her, but she chooses this moment to sit up more in hopes that exposed cleavage might help lure him into the water. “Can Daddy help?”

“You’re gonna get in?”

“No, baby,” he says. “Daddy’s gonna give you a bath.” With one hand, he nudges her to sit up while he adds more hot water to the tub. “Tell me if it’s too warm, sweetheart.”

Clarke swirls the colors left by the bath bombs with her fingers, melding pink and blue together until all that’s left is purple. The ball with the ring pops back up to the surface, but Bellamy grabs it before she does.

“I wanna see,” Clarke whines.

“After your bath.” She huffs but makes no further protest as a damp washcloth slides down her bare back. They do this all the time when they take baths together, but it’s different having him outside the bath instead of inside. There is nothing mutual about it. Clarke can’t wash his chest while he washes her arms. She has to just sit there and let Daddy take care of everything.

And she loves it.

There are no distractions except the whirling colors now fading away into a monotonous purple, nothing to draw her attention away from the gentle way he rubs soap into her skin or kisses her damp shoulder after he’s washed the soap away. She never appreciates his hands enough, always too overwhelmed by everything else he does and is to her to zero in on them. But now, it’s all she can do. His fingertips tease her soft skin, the callouses tickling her. He’s firm as he holds her leg out of the water, precise as he drags the razor up her shin, and gentle as he tests the skin with his fingers. Love coats each touch to her skin, thick so she can never forget how much he loves her.

“I love you,” she tells him.

“I love you too,” he hums.

“No, Bell. I love you,” she repeats. He doesn’t get it. The word is heavier than it was yesterday. Yesterday, it was heavier than the day before. Each day, each moment with him pulls her in deeper and she’s convinced that this is the peak of love only to be proven wrong just a second later.

There aren’t words to explain it. Clarke would have been okay if she and Bellamy had never crossed paths. She would have survived like she always does. But would she have gotten the courage to finally have an honest conversation with her mother? Would she ever realize what she wanted to do with her life? Would she have made peace with the past the way she has now? Bellamy didn’t make her do any of that, but he’s the reason she felt safe enough to go see her mom today, to make the jump to art therapy, to finally let go…

Bellamy is her home. He’s warmth and security and unconditional love. She feels safe for the first time in years. Safe enough to tackle the things that terrify her, and she’s so much happier because of it. Because of him.

“You know how much I love you, right?” she asks.

“Enough to marry me, have my babies, and grow old with me, I hope,” Bellamy teases, and her heart flips. He says it so casually… so sure.

“You want all that?”

His forehead falls to her shoulder and he whispers, “Clarke.” She rests her cheek against his dark curls. “You have no idea how much I do. It’s all I think about.” His lips settle on the bony part of her shoulder and presses a long kiss to it.

“So, we’re going to have all that one day,” Clarke says, more to herself than to him. She hardly believes it one second and knows it to be fact the next.

“You want to?”

“Uh huh.”

He kisses her shoulder again. “Then, we will.”

And they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part of relationship focused fics is figuring out where they end. I think that's why I've taken so long to complete this fic. I didn't go into this chapter expecting it to be the last, but halfway through it I realized that this is the end of this story. What I wanted when I started this fic so long ago was for Bellamy and Clarke to find peace through each other. And when I finished writing that scene with Abby, it clicked for me that they finally have. I thought about writing an epilogue, but I've never liked writing those. I like keeping it open so we all have our own ideas of what kind of beautiful life they have together. I may come back to this and add one shots like I did with I'm Gonna Leave You Anyway, or I may just let this be it. Who knows. Certainly not me. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading this and sticking with it so long. I hope you enjoyed the story and the smut. Y'all are awesome.


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